


half in tomorrow and half in today

by someitems



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Together, Injury Recovery, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-07-23 16:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 66,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16162913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someitems/pseuds/someitems
Summary: "Yuzu's knee buckles during the landing, and he has to put a hand down. Both his legs feel like fire, sore and aching. This doesn’t seem like a dream.But if it’s not a dream, what is it?"When Yuzuru Hanyu wakes up to find himself in the future, he thinks he knows what brought him there. But time takes him on a winding journey...to places he never expected, lessons that surprise him, and finally, a realization that was right in front of him all along.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This was probably my most ambitious writing project ever, blowing my wordcount goals for the year out of the water, and I'm so excited to finally be able to share it with you all! The fic is basically complete, except for some editing, so I'll be updating Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. 
> 
> Thanks to sophiahelix for excellent beta work, encouragement, and patiently listening to me say that I was "almost done" for a solid two months. And thanks to the good people of the Knife Shoes Appreciation Society discord channel for being a great cheer squad. 
> 
> Title taken from "Too Early to Say" by the Innocence Mission.

When Yuzu was a little boy, his mother would tell him stories in the evenings between dinner and bedtime. Tales from folklore, stories of magic and adventure, the history of Sendai, even little moments from her own childhood days. Yuzu would curl up on the couch, his head on one arm, and watch his mother’s face, her hands flying as she talked. 

He loved all her stories, but the fantastical ones were his favorite. They made him feel like the world was a wide and exciting place, somewhere magic lurked and dreams came true.

“Do you think things like this are really real?” Yuzu asked one evening, snuggling against his mother’s side. She’d just finished one of his favorite stories: Urashima Taro, the fisherman who journeyed to a kingdom under the sea for a few days and came back to the land to find himself hundreds of years in the future.

His mother looked down at him. “Many more things are real than a lot of people know. Whether they happen to just anybody, though—” She considered a minute. “It—depends on the person, I think. In the right circumstances, for those with an open mind and a sensitive heart, the world is a very exciting place.”

“Do I have a sensitive heart?” Yuzu asked. 

His mother smiled warmly and reached over to ruffle his hair. “You certainly do.” 

“Good,” Yuzu said, sinking into the couch cushions with satisfaction.

His mother chuckled. “I think that’s enough for tonight, hmm? Growing boys need their rest.”

In bed that night, staring at his ceiling, Yuzu thought about magic, and spirits, and adventures. He tried to open himself to the possibilities, like his mother said, squeezing his eyes shut and clutching his teddy bear. For just a minute, he felt it—a broadening sensation, legs and arms tingling, a connection to the darkness in his bedroom and the rest of the house and the sky and the world. A sudden warmth enveloped his heart, and then just like that, he was asleep.

It was a long, long time before he thought about it again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two for the price of one today, because the prologue is so short. Enjoy!

It's just possible that Yuzu underestimated what it would feel like to be at a senior World Championships. Juniors had gotten too easy towards the end, nothing much to challenge him, and he’d been itching to move up. But his struggles with the quad toe, the extra thirty seconds in the free skate, and the long season were taking their toll on him. Spraining his ankle during practice had made it all that much worse. He delivered a colossal mess of a performance in the short program, popping his triple lutz to a single, and now he’s all the way down in seventh. Some people might say being in the top ten after the short program during your very first senior Worlds, at age 17, is a great accomplishment, but Yuzu isn’t one of those people. He expects more of himself.

“Tomorrow is a new day,” Coach Nanami tells Yuzu, as he packs ice around his ankle. “Don’t expect defeat before it happens. You can still have a great performance tomorrow.”

“I guess,” Yuzu says. 

“No guessing,” Coach Nanami says. “You can do it.”

“I’m worried about…” Yuzu gestures at his ankle.

“That doesn’t have to matter,” Coach Nanami says. “If you stay determined, stay hungry, you’ll skate with purpose. And that will carry you through. Can you do that?” She looks at him firmly, right in the eyes.

“Yes,” Yuzu says, much more certain this time. “Yes!”

Coach Nanami smiles. “That’s my boy.” She pats his shoulder. “Ice your ankle and get a good sleep. You’ve got a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”

Yuzu arrives at the rink the next day with his blood on fire, a low burning in his veins. He warms up swiftly, barely noticing anyone around him. His entire energy is focused on his goal: ignore the pain in his ankle, skate a clean free, and—yes, he’s just going to go ahead and speak it into existence—get himself onto the podium.

“You’re ready,” Coach Nanami says, holding Yuzu’s hands as he stands at the boards. “Go out there and show them what I know you can do.”

Yuzu nods. He glides to the center of the ice, checking his axis.

The first thundering notes of the music are like a solid foundation, holding him up. And the cleanly landed quad toe, punctuated with applause, is confirmation: he can do this. He _is_ doing this, as he lands jump after jump. His certainty grows the further into the program he gets.

 _I’m going to skate clean,_ he thinks, and almost immediately catches an edge and stumbles, nearly doing a faceplant into the ice. _Shit._ This is no time to lose his concentration. He pours everything he has into the last few jumps, letting the cheers of the crowd carry him through. All that’s left is the choreographic sequence, one jump, and a spin. A strong finish is in sight. He opens his mouth and lets out a roar, primal and fierce, from deep within him.

As he finishes his final spin, he can see himself as Romeo, sacrificing himself entirely for the thing he loves more than anything else. For a shot at a medal, for a perfect skate. He plunges an imaginary knife into his chest, his final act of fervor. The instant the program finishes, he raises his arm in triumph. He knows: he’s achieved his goal.

The adrenaline, and the certainty, leave him abruptly, his treacherous lungs failing him and the pain rushing back into his ankle. Yuzu hunches over, panting. He feels like he could sleep for a hundred years. How is it possible that he did that? 

At the boards, Coach Nanami is dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. He hurls himself into her arms.

“That was incredible,” she says, her voice choked. “I knew you could do it.”

The two of them wait in the kiss and cry, Yuzu burying his head in his hands. The whole thing feels like some kind of out-of-body experience. Seeing the scores doesn’t make it any more real—it’s the highest Yuzu has ever gotten, and it puts him squarely in the lead. One of the best scores he’s seen this season, except it’s his. He gasps. Coach Nanami frantically pulls tissues from Pooh-san, blowing her nose and wiping her eyes. 

He watches the rest of the competition eagerly, no longer on edge. He’s proven himself: that he deserves to be a senior even at such a young age, that he deserves to continue skating. Whatever comes next, he’ll be ready for it. And in the meantime, he wants to watch Dai and Patrick and the rest of the final group. _Your rivals,_ a little part of his mind whispers.

When all is said and done, Yuzu is, somehow, in third place. His free skate score is only about three points lower than Patrick’s. Happiness courses through Yuzu’s veins as he sits there, soaking it in. A medal at his very first world championships. He’d imagined this sometimes, running it through as he lay in bed at night, but it doesn’t even come close to the feeling of the real thing.

At the medal ceremony, Yuzu’s giddy energy bubbles over, and he has to force himself not to do his choreography all over again when he skates out to take his bows. Patrick and Dai look at him with barely disguised amusement, but he doesn’t care. He’s going to enjoy his World medal—his _first_ World medal, surely more are on the horizon—as much as he wants. When the representative from the French federation slips the medal over Yuzu’s head, chills go down his spine.

After the medals and the flowers and more congratulations, Patrick beckons Yuzu and Dai to the top step of the podium for a picture together. As the shutters click, Yuzu takes it all in, fixing an image in his head. Next year, he’ll be the one on the highest step.

Backstage is a vibrant mess of bagged-up plushies and organizers talking into walkie-talkies and skaters hugging each other. Yuzu feels a tap on his shoulder and turns around quickly, thinking it’s someone from the JSF. But his eyes meet huge brown eyes, slightly worried-looking. It’s Javier Fernandez. Yuzu shared a podium with him earlier this year, at Rostelecom, and it was fun. Javier was warm and friendly to him at the press conference, and he seemed genuinely happy that Yuzu had won gold, for some reason. If Yuzu had won silver and Javier had won gold, Yuzu would have been pissed.

“Hi,” Yuzu says, waving. He hopes Javier isn’t looking for a long conversation. Yuzu’s way too tired to try and speak much English.

“Congratulations for your medal,” Javier says, and then hugs Yuzu, startling him into stiffness. Javier must notice, because he lets go quickly. “You did really good.”

“Thanks,” Yuzu says, bobbing his head. “Um.” He can’t congratulate Javier back—even though he was in the final group, Javier was a mess today, dropping all the way from fifth to ninth. He doesn’t know what else to say. “Nice to see you. Bye.” He bows, waves and then turns around to leave.

Behind him, Javier laughs. “Bye, Yuzu.”

Eventually Yuzu makes it back into his street clothes and out of the arena, although it feels like it takes years. Coach Nanami and his parents take him to a little restaurant nearby to celebrate. It’s warm and cozy, the glowing feeling from the medal ceremony still surrounding him.

“So, Yuzuru,” Coach Nanami says, once they’ve finished eating and are waiting for dessert. Yuzu has a feeling he knows what’s coming. “Congratulations on your first World medal.” She clears her throat, as if she’s about to start crying again. “I think you know what this means, though.”

“Yeah,” Yuzu says.

“We need to think about you switching to a new coach,” she says. “I’ve been so happy to work with you all these years, but you need more than I can give you to take you further.”

Yuzu nods. He’s been expecting this. Coach Nanami first brought it up with him a few months ago, and it made him sad then, to think of leaving her. But after this season he’s come around to her way of thinking. He needs to train with the best, to push himself further than he can be pushed in his hometown. He needs the challenge that will refine him into the perfect skater he longs to be. 

“You don’t have to make any kind of final decision now,” Coach Nanami says. “But have you had any thoughts about where you might like to go?”

An image flashes into Yuzu’s head: Javier Fernandez, landing quad sal after quad sal in practice, consulting with his coach at the boards and going back out there with another perfect quad.

“Yeah, I already know,” Yuzu says.

Coach Nanami and his mom exchange a glance. “Yes?” Coach Nanami says.

“Coach Brian Orser,” Yuzu says firmly.

There’s a silence. He can practically hear what everyone’s thinking. _Brian Orser? All the way in Canada?_ But Yuzu’s made up his mind. If it doesn’t work out, he’ll think about other options, but not until then. He’s never gotten anywhere by second-guessing himself.

“All right,” Coach Nanami says after a while. “We’ll start the process.” She doesn’t say _if you’re sure,_ because she knows Yuzu well enough by now. He wouldn’t say anything if he wasn’t sure.

Back at the hotel, Yuzu’s parents and Coach Nanami give him huge hugs. 

“We’re so proud of you,” his dad says.

“I’ll keep making you proud,” Yuzu says. “I promise.”

His mom smiles, giving his arm a squeeze. “One thing at a time, my little whirlwind. Just enjoy it.”

Yuzu’s mind is already on the future, though. As he heads to his hotel room, he’s picturing another celebratory dinner. This one will be for him winning gold at next year’s Worlds, after he skates a clean free with two quads. 

His family’s always telling him to enjoy the moment, to relax, to not throw himself into everything so recklessly. But they don’t know what it’s like to be on the ice in front of everyone, knowing an audience is watching and waiting to be impressed. They don’t know what it’s like to be haunted by perfection, to close your eyes at night and see the ghost of what you could become if you only worked hard enough. So Yuzu feels justified in ignoring their advice. They love and support him, and he appreciates it, but only he knows what he needs to do.

And now he’s got his plan, the one that’ll launch him from third to first, the one that’ll get him the two Olympic golds he needs. Go to Coach Brian and learn everything he can from him. Figure out the secret to Javier’s amazing quad sal, and steal it. It’ll probably be a little weird at first, training with a rival, but it’s not like Yuzu has to talk to him all that much. He can be polite but distant, keeping to himself. Not giving too much away, other than his triple axel technique. Javier’s axel isn’t that great, and if Yuzu’s going to borrow one of Javier’s jumps, he supposes it’s only fair to give Javier one in exchange. But they won’t have to be _friends,_ or anything. Just two people who train in the same rink.

Back in his room, Yuzu sets the box with his bronze medal carefully on the side table. He trades his track pants for sweatpants and climbs into bed, wriggling under the covers. Tomorrow he’ll talk to his mom about the coaching plan, figure out what they do to get it started. Make a to-do list. He closes his eyes, full of self-satisfaction.

****  
Yuzu opens his eyes, except when he opens them, he’s at center ice, checking his axis, so he must be dreaming still. He’s wearing a pink costume with a huge silver cross over the chest, like Johnny’s outfit for Ave Maria. He wonders what he’s about to skate—every skating dream he has is different. This one feels unbelievably vivid, something that will likely be seared into his memory when he wakes up.

People in the crowd are holding signs with his name on them. He takes his starting position, arms poised like wings. Or rather, his body takes the starting position—Yuzu’s mind is totally blank, no idea what is happening. This is some new kind of dream. He never feels this kind of separation in dreams, usually. Yuzu hopes his body knows what it’s doing, because whatever this is, he wants to skate well. He doesn’t have any intention of embarrassing himself if he can help it.

The music starts, and his body flings itself into some choreography he’s never seen or thought of before. He winds up for a jump and launches into a quad toe. His left knee twinges on the takeoff, and when he lands, a searing pain shoots through his right ankle. It freaks Yuzu out, and he almost falls over, wobbling a little on his skates. _Keep going, keep going,_ he tells his body, gliding into a spread eagle. It turns out to be the setup for—a quad sal? His knee buckles during the landing, and he has to put a hand down. Both his legs feel like fire, sore and aching. This doesn’t seem like a dream.

But if it’s not a dream, what is it? Some sort of step sequence is happening. He tries not to think too much, to let his body carry him, because when he thinks, he gets wobbly. There’s a pause in the program, so he takes a breath. He can see someone’s face in the audience, waving a Japanese flag and cheering, a face he’s never seen before in his life. How could such a face show up in his dream?

Triple axel-triple toe. Triple axel-double toe. Triple loop. Jumps his body fights for, battling the exhaustion in his limbs, the pain that’s intensifying as he continues. He just has to keep skating. Triple lutz-double toe-double toe. Triple lutz. Ina Bauer. Surely this program must be almost over? He feels like he’s about to collapse. How can this be a dream?

Choreo sequence. Spins. His body knows this program well, well enough to keep on even in spite of everything working against it. If it’s not a dream, what could it be? He extends his hands above him in his ending pose. The crowd roars. His body gives out abruptly, and he collapses onto his hands and knees, panting hard. The ice is cold under his thin gloves.

He thinks, suddenly, of the story his mother used to tell him. The fisherman who journeyed under the sea and returned to the land to find it was the future. Has he woken up in the future? But things like that don’t really happen, do they? He hears his mother’s voice in his ear: “Many more things are real than a lot of people know...”

Well, he has to take his bows, at the very least. He pulls himself up from the ice slowly and painfully. Once he gets off the ice, he can figure out if this is a dream or not.

He glides to the boards where…where Brian Orser is waiting for him? His plans must have worked out, then. Coach Brian has his arms open. Once again, Yuzu’s body knows things his mind doesn’t, because he’s suddenly being hugged by Coach Brian, warm and steadying. “I’m so proud of you,” Coach Brian says.

Yuzu makes a noise in response, not sure what to say. Someone else hugs him—he can’t see who it is until they pull away, and it takes him a minute to figure it out. David Wilson? The choreographer? Maybe David choreographed this piece for him, in the future. The future, which Yuzu is becoming more and more convinced that he is in, despite the logical impossibility of it all.

“Okay, you guys go to the kiss and cry, I’m going to go see Javi,” Coach Brian says. Oh, right. If he’s working with Coach Brian, that means Yuzu must train with Javier. Under the confusion and pain and exhaustion, Yuzu’s suddenly intrigued: how much has Javier improved under Coach Brian? It’ll be easy to see here, since Yuzu was just watching him. 

Speaking of watching competitions, what competition is this, anyway? Yuzu rises up on his toes and cranes his neck to look at the boards. _World Championships 2013, London, Canada_. He’s a whole year in the future, possibly, which is better than 300 years, at least. 

In the kiss and cry, David is attempting to console Yuzu with English that mostly goes over his head. Shit, is he still this bad at English even after a year in Toronto? Or is he bad at English because his present-day consciousness is in his future body? Yuzu’s head spins. The second competition ends, he’s got to get on the internet and do some research. In the meantime, he just nods at David. David grins at him, like he can tell Yuzu doesn’t understand what he’s saying.

“The scores, please,” the announcer calls. Yuzu rubs at his knee, which has been dully throbbing even since he got off the ice. “Yuzuru Hanyu has earned in the free program one hundred and sixty-nine point zero five points. His total competition score is two hundred and forty-four point nine nine points.”

Yuzu tries his best to keep the shock off his face. He must have skated another terrible short program the day before, or his other self did, or—Yuzu doesn’t have time for all the ins and outs of his situation. All he knows is that in the future, he still can’t skate the short to save his life, and he almost certainly won’t be getting on the podium at 2013 Worlds. So much for all his carefully-laid plans.

Yuzu stands up slowly, wincing, and moves to the green room to watch Javier. The improvement in Javier’s skills is obvious right from the start: he’s skating with more confidence, his edges deep and smooth. When he skates around, it’s more than just filling time—his movements have purpose. He’s still a bit messy—he pops his quad sal towards the beginning—but he sticks the popped quad back in later, with amazing presence of mind. All in all, Yuzu is impressed. Javier goes ahead of Yuzu in the standings, his total score about four points better, but his free skate doesn’t beat Yuzu’s. Yuzu can’t help but feel a little smug about this.

When all is said and done, Yuzu is in fourth place. Javier is in third place. Patrick wins again, because of course he fucking does. Yuzu ends up with a small bronze medal, so it could be worse. _Next year,_ he thinks, looking at Patrick’s gold. Then he remembers. This is next year. And for all he knows, he could close his eyes tonight and wake up forty years in the future, or he could wake up for real from this ridiculous dream and be back in his hotel in Nice, although that’s looking less and less likely. He desperately needs to figure out what’s going on.

At the end of the small medal ceremony, Yuzu tries to slip away, hoping he can get back to his hotel without too much fuss. But Javier is in his way, and when Yuzu tries to step around him Javier slips an arm around his waist, pulling him in.

“You’re not getting away that easy,” Javier says. He tilts his head against Yuzu’s. Yuzu flinches, instinctively, squirming away.

“Javier—“ Yuzu says, and Javier makes a face.

“Are you mad at me?” Javier asks. “You don’t want a hug and then you call me my full name?” He pouts, exaggeratedly, like he’s still in character as Chaplin.

Yuzu swallows, taking in this information. Apparently in the future, he and Javier—Javi—hug, and call each other nicknames. Yuzu knew that when he started training under Brian, he’d be more familiar with Javi, but he just wanted to keep an eye on him, not get to know him. Javi is his rival, after all. What kind of person cuddles with their rival?

But Yuzu is tired and confused, and his entire body hurts, and Javi’s arm is warm around him, anchoring him to the present. He’s not going to fight it.

“Not mad,” he says. “Just tired.” He tilts his head toward Javi’s. A peace offering.

Javi’s expression goes soft and gentle. “You fought really hard, you should be proud.” He pulls Yuzu in to a real hug, both arms tight around him. “Next year, you’ll beat me for sure. You’ll be the one on top of that podium.”

Yuzu frowns, hidden in Javi’s shoulder. Is this a reverse psychology thing? Or does Javi just accept defeat really easily? Yuzu can’t imagine saying that to anyone. Maybe he’s been catapulted to the future to save Javier Fernandez from losing his competitive spirit.

“Yeah, okay,” Yuzu says vaguely. He pulls himself away a little. “I have to go.”

Javi lets go. “Okay, I’ll see you later.” He grins.

“Thanks,” Yuzu calls as he leaves. He doesn’t want to be rude.

As soon as he leaves Javi, all the confusion comes rushing in again. Is there anyone he can talk to about this? Or is he just going to have to Google and hope for the best? It’d be easier if there were anyone he knew in the future who spoke Japanese—there’s no way he can explain this in English. But so far, the only people he’s seen are Dai and Taka, who would think he was high on painkillers, and Ms. Kobayashi from the JSF, who is really intimidating. He should find his mom—she must be here somewhere—and tell her what’s going on, probably. His stomach sinks. When she finds out he’s gone forward in time, she’s going to be so worried about him. He hates making her worry. 

He turns back toward the staging area, where he left all his bags, and suddenly spots someone at the end of the hallway, almost as unbelievable as waking up in the future. Kikuchi-san, his trainer in Sendai, carrying Yuzu’s bags. Did Kikuchi come with him when he moved to Toronto? 

Relief courses through Yuzu. On the wall of the examining room in Kikuchi’s clinic, next to the diplomas and the picture of Kikuchi with Yuzu’s first medal, is a shiny plaque Yuzu loves to stare at when the checkups get boring. _In recognition of contributions to the Society for Mystical and Supernatural Research._ Kikuchi’s always been very vague about what those contributions are, but surely something or someone he knows could help Yuzu with this time-travel situation.

Yuzu hurries down the hall as fast as his aching legs will take him. “Kikuchi!” he calls, and Kikuchi raises his head.

“I really need to talk to you,” Yuzu blurts out. “I have a big problem.”

Kikuchi furrows his brow. “Is your knee worse? Or is it your ankle?”

“No, it’s—a different type of problem.” Yuzu considers. “Although both my legs are killing me.”

Kikuchi forces Yuzu to sit down, kneels beside him to massage his calves. “So what is this big problem?”

“Um. Well.” Yuzu doesn’t really know where to start. “Well, I guess, basically, last night I won a bronze medal at Worlds—at 2012 Worlds—and I went to bed, and when I woke up I was on the ice about to start the free skate here.”

Kikuchi’s eyebrows go up, ever so slightly, but he doesn’t say anything.

Yuzu keeps talking. “At first I thought it was a dream, but then I could do a quad sal, and then my legs started hurting, and everything just felt way too real. And, obviously, I haven’t woken up from it, since I’m still here talking to you. So I thought maybe—I jumped in time? I skipped to the future? But I don’t know anything here, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it, or why, or if it’ll happen again, or—So. That’s what it is.” He trails off.

“Oh,” Kikuchi says, thoughtfully. He studies Yuzu intently, as if he’s trying to look inside Yuzu’s head. “So that’s what—wow.” He doesn’t say anything else for a while, and Yuzu gets nervous.

“Do you think I’m losing my memory, maybe?” Yuzu asks. It’s a possibility he hadn’t considered before, but it jumps into his head suddenly, in the midst of the silence. It fills him with dark, logical dread. He’s probably got temporary amnesia, or something. It’s the simplest explanation—

“Oh, no, not at all,” Kikuchi says. “What you described—it’s something I’ve only ever read about. I never expected to see it from a patient of mine. But it’s very real.”

“Do you know the story of Urashima Taro?” Yuzu asks, and Kikuchi nods. “That’s what I first thought of. My mom used to tell me that story all the time when I was little. She made it sound like it might be true.”

“Things like this, they seem like they’re out of folklore,” Kikuchi says. “But more unusual things happen in the everyday world than you would think. Even just from the patients that come into my clinic, I could tell quite a few stories.”

“Time travel stories?” Yuzu asks.

“All kinds of things. I used to treat a woman who fought evil spirits in her sleep sometimes, and she’d wake up all covered in bruises. A little boy came into my office one time and pointed out a ghost that was in the ceiling—that was very helpful.”

Yuzu frowns. “Are you sure that was real?”

Kikuchi gives him a pointed look. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who would typically doubt these things.”

“You’re right.” Yuzu feels a little abashed. He was mostly just impatient to get his problem solved. “My mom used to say I had a sensitive heart.”

“Sensitivity, hmmm,” Kikuchi says. “That rings a bell. I’m almost certain I have some materials on this somewhere. Let’s go back to the hotel so we can investigate this properly.” He looks at Yuzu’s legs. “And so we can get you some extra treatment.”

Back in the hotel, Kikuchi pulls a stack of academic journals out of his luggage. Yuzu must look as puzzled as he feels, because Kikuchi turns to him with a wry, warm smile. 

“You always wanted to know what the Society for Mystical and Supernatural Research did,” he says. “Well, now you know. A little more boring than you expected, hmm?”

 _Boring_ isn’t the word Yuzu would use. “Is your research on time travel?”

“No, that’s not my specialty,” Kikuchi says—and leaves it at that, maddeningly. “But at our annual meeting a couple years ago, someone presented a paper...ah yes, here it is.” Kikuchi takes a journal out of the middle of the stack and sets it in the middle of the bed. Its cover is an unassuming pale green, with black text that reads _A Study of Four Cases in Time-Skipping._

Yuzu has had to swallow hundreds of unbelievable things over the past few hours, but somehow this seems the most unbelievable of all. “Someone wrote a whole paper on this?”

“More than one,” Kikuchi says. “But this one was presented not too long ago, so I thought of it first.”

“Oh,” Yuzu says, just for something to say. 

Kikuchi pages through the journal. “So it’s as I remembered,” he says. “Someone goes to sleep at one moment of their life and wakes up at a moment further in the future. Just like you did.”

“It seems like I’ve been living my life in the normal order, though,” Yuzu says. “Or like—like a version of me has lived the year I skipped. Because I knew my choreography, and I could do a quad sal…”

“You’re right, it’s not straightforward time travel,” Kikuchi says. “Only your consciousness is traveling. A version of yourself has been living your life in the year you skipped—your self from another timeline.”

Yuzu’s head spins. “So—“

“So something has caused your current consciousness to wake up in this future self. ”

“Does it say why it happens?” Yuzu blurts out.

“Not in this journal, because there’s some debate about how much it can be proven,” Kikuchi says. “But from what I’ve heard, it generally happens to people when their future self wants them to fix something in the past. Some mistake, some lesson they didn’t learn, that they believe could be changed by a different choice. For those who are open to mysteries, who can connect easily to their past or their future, they send this energy back to the past to help change the future.”

“Well, how am I supposed to figure out what lesson I need to learn?” Yuzu says. “What’s so important that my future self had to drag me all the way here?”

“You’ll just have to see,” Kikuchi says. “Do whatever you think is best in the moment, and if it sticks for long enough, then you’ll know that’s what you needed to learn.”

“That’s stupid,” Yuzu says frankly.

Kikuchi laughs, for a moment, but then his face sobers up. “This is a very drastic measure. Even for those who have this ability, it’s not recommended except in extreme cases. When you learn the lesson your future self wants you to learn, it erases that future self—the timeline will become stable, and you’ll live your life as your present self. So change has to seem overwhelmingly better than the status quo. Your future self must be having a really hard time.”

Yuzu’s quiet, his irritation evaporating. _A really hard time._ “I hope it’s not another earthquake,” he says aloud, mostly to himself.

Kikuchi looks him straight in the eyes. “There wouldn’t be any individual choice you could make that would cause or prevent an earthquake,” he says, seriously and gently. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing that big. It has to be something you yourself could change.”

“Okay,” Yuzu says. He’s still worried, but Kikuchi’s explanation is logical enough.

“I’d better show you back to your room,” Kikuchi says. “And I’ll tell your mother you’re done with me. She wants to see you.”

“Good,” Yuzu says. Exhaustion is flooding his body, and all he wants to do is hug his mom and then drop into bed. Bed—“I’m not going to wake up in the future right away when I fall asleep tonight, am I?”

Kikuchi shakes his head. “The shortest time between skips that’s ever been recorded is a month. You’ve got some time to try and fix whatever it is.”

Yuzu breathes a sigh of relief. He gets up from the armchair, legs moving stiffly and painfully. Kikuchi walks him down the hallway and shows him to a door by the other end, taking a keycard out of his pocket and unlocking it for Yuzu.

“See you tomorrow,” Kikuchi says.

As soon as he’s inside the room, Yuzu flops stomach-first onto the bed, spreading his legs and arms out like a starfish. He lies there, listening to the sound of his own breath, loud in the dark, silent room. Emotions wash over him like waves. What is he going to do, here in the future? How will he figure it out? And what could be going so wrong for his future self? He wonders if people will notice, that it’s a different him here now. 

There’s a knock at the door. “It’s me,” his mom’s voice calls.

Yuzu lets her in. She steps into the entryway, turning a light on automatically.

“How do you feel?” his mom asks. “You look so tired, sweetheart.”

Yuzu bites down on both cheeks hard so he doesn’t cry. His mom’s voice is soothing, grounding, the first stable thing in all the confusing mess of the day. He clearly doesn’t do a great job of hiding how he’s feeling, because she holds out her hands. “Oh, come here.”

Yuzu clings to her, burying his face in her shoulder. He lets her rub his back and murmur softly to him, like he’s still a kid. He doesn’t say anything back. If she can tell that he’s not the same as he was yesterday, it doesn’t seem to matter to her.

Eventually his mom lets go, giving his shoulders one last squeeze. “Sleep well,” she says, shutting the door behind her softly.

Yuzu climbs into bed and falls asleep almost instantly, dreaming of nothing at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad you guys are enjoying the story so far!

After Worlds, Yuzu and his mom go back to Sendai. He has to stay off ice for at least a month so his knee and ankle heal, which is boring. He spends the first week of his rehab sleeping in and playing video games late into the night. But he starts worrying after a while. What if he’s really lazy in the future and can’t accomplish any of his goals, and so his future self wanted him to quit gaming every day and rereading manga he’s read a dozen times? Reluctantly, he forces himself to start finishing his high school coursework.

Yuzu also does a lot of research, lying on the couch with his laptop on his stomach and ice on his legs. Research on skating stuff, but also on this whole timeskipping thing. He’s careful to only look that up when his family is out of the room, not wanting to alarm them.

He finds a few of those academic articles Kikuchi had referenced, as well as some blogs and personal accounts by other people who have skipped forward in time. A pattern emerges: every so often—sometime between a month and a year, and most often following a major event or decision—the timeskipper falls asleep in one time and wakes up in another, until one day they don’t anymore. 

The academic articles are full of helpful data, but they stop short of assigning a reason for the skips. The blogs are more interesting in that regard. One man speculates that his past self wanted him to spend more time with his father—his skipping only stopped when he finally accepted his father’s invitation to move home. Another blog is devoted to the stories of people who timeskipped until they found their true love. Yuzu skims this one, irritated. Surely love isn’t so important that you would willingly erase yourself from one timeline and put yourself in another. Couldn’t you just find someone else instead? 

Yuzu’s heart beats a little faster as he reads the story of a woman who skipped every few months until she finally made the decision to quit her office job and fulfill her childhood dream to become a painter. A realization dawns upon Yuzu, something so obvious he has no idea why it’s only occurred to him now. _Childhood dream._ He must have failed to win the Olympics, in this alternate timeline, and his future self wants to give him another chance. He needs to do everything in his power to get gold. 

Yuzu closes the tab with the blog and opens YouTube, pulling up one of Javi’s old routines. He watches the quad sal at the beginning over and over again, taking in every detail. He’s got no time to lose.

****  
Leaving Sendai for Toronto at the end of the summer is strange. Technically speaking, Yuzu is returning to a place he knows, but he hasn’t actually been there—just another casual paradox. He guesses he’ll handle it like the free skate at Worlds. Let his body react before his mind, try not to look too surprised, bluff his way through anything that feels weird.

The apartment in Toronto is beautiful, gleaming glass and soft carpet, and from the window he can see the trees of a nearby park. Still, it feels lonely after so much time in Sendai. His mom lets him mope for two days before forcing him to run errands with her. They drive to the Asian grocery store and restock the pantry, then head to the craft store for yarn and embroidery thread. His mom insists on looking for new curtains, running a practiced hand over the fabric and holding it up to the light to see the thickness. It’s all deadly boring, and makes him grateful that it’s time for him to get back on the ice that next Monday.

He can barely contain his awe and delight when his mom drops him off at the Cricket Club. It’s like nothing he’s ever seen before—the high wooden rafters, the ice just for skaters, the seemingly endless facilities. This is where he trains now. It’s all his.

He feels a sudden stab of guilt. What has he ever done to deserve to skate in a beautiful place like this, and not in poor old Ice Rink Sendai, with the peeling posters and the crowds of little kids on the ice and that one part in the roof where you can still see the crack from the earthquake? If he makes any money at all, if he can manage to get that gold medal, he’s going to do everything he can to turn his home rink into something that’ll rival the Cricket Club. He has to stand there with his eyes shut for a minute, the force of his wish is so strong. Eventually, Yuzu recovers himself and remembers that technically, he’s been here before. He stops thinking and lets his body lead him to the locker room. 

Training is strange. His body is recalcitrant, after so much time off-ice, but still slips into stroking exercises Yuzu has never done before, apparently a daily routine at the Cricket Club. He’s suddenly grateful to his other self, the one that lived the past year for him. Whatever mistakes he made that required Yuzu to wake up in his timeline, at least he didn’t neglect his training. 

The hard part is everything else. Being held to a higher standard, and expected to perform at a level far above his current one. Speaking English daily, having words wash over him and not knowing what to say in return. Figuring out what, exactly, Coach Brian and Coach Tracy want from him. Filling the role his other self built.

He keeps running into things he doesn’t know he was supposed to be doing. Apparently, he calls Coach Brian and Coach Tracy just by their first names, and he waves hello and goodbye to everyone at the rink, and always eats lunch at one of the tables in the lounge. He feels like he’s at a competition performing choreography he’s only learned the day before, always a step behind.

The person who causes him the most stumbling is Javi. Javi hugs and touches him like it’s just something they do. Yuzu has to work hard not to flinch when Javi flings an arm around him during practice or tugs at his waist at the end of a stroking session. When Yuzu falls with a splat on a quad toe, Javi skates over and pulls him up, slapping him encouragingly on the back. And they spend some time together off-ice as well, apparently—Javi makes a big show of being offended on the first day when Yuzu passes him by to sit at a table by himself for lunch. But when Yuzu splutters an apology, picking up his stuff to move back, Javi smiles at him and says reassuringly, “I’m just kidding. Obviously you can eat by yourself if you want.” Yuzu doesn’t get Javi, and he’s pretty sure it’s not just the language barrier.

It’s unfair, he thinks that first week, that he got plunged into this new environment without the benefit of an introduction. All these people think he’s been here before, that he’s been here every day for the past year, but he hasn’t. Couldn’t he have been skipped to his first day at the Cricket Club instead?

But after a couple more weeks, it’s totally different. He might have to get used to everyone else there, but there’s something to be said for everyone else already being used to him. More than used to him—they seem to _accept_ him, somehow.

The first time he sits down to eat lunch with Javi, Yuzu cringes, realizing his mom put all his food in matching Winnie the Pooh-themed containers. He’s going to look like a kid, eating a lunch patterned with his favorite cartoon. But Javi just glances over and asks, “Can I have one of your cherry tomatoes?”

“How you know I have?” Yuzu pries the lid off the little round container skeptically. He does have them, but why would Javi know that?

“You always have cherry tomatoes.” Javi holds his palm out. “Pleeeeeease?” he whines.

“No,” Yuzu says, grinning.

Javi pouts dramatically, turning his entire bottom lip inside out. “I need a new lunch buddy. You’re mean.”

Yuzu laughs at Javi’s face, which just makes him pout harder. After a minute, he relents and fishes out a single cherry tomato, placing it in Javi’s upturned hand. “There.”

Javi grins widely and pops it in his mouth, biting down with relish. “You’re the best,” he says, around bites.

They clean up their lunches and hurry back to the rink, not wanting to be late for their next session. Brian is by one of the benches, tacking something up to the bulletin board. He turns around when the door opens with a smile on his face, bowing to Yuzu. Yuzu bows back. This place—this place could be a home, if he let it.

But he doesn’t think about that for very long. David and Jeff arrive for choreography, and he’s suddenly, forcibly reminded that this is the Olympic season. As far as he can tell, needing to win the gold is the reason he skipped—it’s the best working theory he’s got. But even if it’s not the lesson he needs to learn, he still can’t settle for less than gold. This is his dream.

The days fall into a pattern. Skating, workouts, homework, dinner. Falling into bed exhausted, waking up to do it all over again. It’s hard and grueling, but Yuzu knows it’s what he has to do. He’ll get through this, and it’ll have been worth it.

Javi’s working hard, too, right alongside him, and that’s just as motivating as Yuzu always thought it would be. Javi’s quads are smooth and clean, his skating sharp and strong, like he’s fencing, or dancing. Yuzu strives hard to keep up with him, to land quads with that same assurance. He’s getting there. His own quad sal is still fickle, sometimes there and sometimes not, but he could do a quad toe in his sleep now.

He has bad days, of course, days when he feels like his legs are made of lead and landing a jump is as impossible as flying. But even when he feels like the worst skater who’s ever lived, Brian and Tracy and Javi are right there, encouraging him and helping him up when he falls. It’s weird at first, and then it’s just normal. He returns the favor, too. When Javi lands on his ass over and over again, pounding the ice with a fist and cursing in Spanish, Yuzu skates over and holds out a hand. “Come on. Try again. Is okay.” And Javi smiles a little at him, and takes the hand, and tries again. They both try again, together. It’s almost _too_ nice.

At the beginning of the season, Yuzu feels adrift, not sure what to expect from his results. He looked up the protocols from last season, watched his other self skate, and what he saw wasn’t the most encouraging. On the one hand, he apparently broke two world records, but on the other hand, he only really seemed to get a handle on the free skate at his last competition of the season. And he has no idea if he’ll skate differently now, if the time travel has affected him at all.

But then, at the Grand Prix Final, he sets a new world record. “So close! So close to a hundred!” Brian exclaims beside him.

“Oh my god,” Yuzu squeaks. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Suddenly, he’s mad at his future self for skipping him past the other two records he broke. There’s nothing like this feeling, the joyous certainty that he’s the best in the world. He wins the Final, over Patrick Chan, and Patrick stares daggers at him before the press conference. _Glare all you want,_ Yuzu thinks, flushed with confidence. _I’m the one on top of the podium for once._

He wins Nationals, too. He’s National Champion. He knows it happened last year too—he beat Dai, stunningly—but he had no idea it’d feel this satisfying. When they call his name to announce him for the Olympic team, the hair stands up all along his arms.

Back at the Cricket Club, Yuzu throws even more of himself into practice. His vision narrows, nothing he can think about but the Olympics. He practices on a rink full of people, but it’s like there’s no one else there at all. When they released the Olympic medal design last summer, Yuzu saved a picture of the gold medal on his phone, and he looks at it five or six times a day now, sharpening his hunger. Transforming himself into a machine built for one goal.

Still, when he arrives in Sochi, it’s like all his preparation vanishes. He’s terrified, suddenly. What if he doesn’t win gold? Where will his future self send him then? The team competition settles his nerves a little, but not much. He already knows he can skate clean short programs—it’s the free that’s his problem now. (What happened to his ability to pull great frees out of thin air? Did that vanish when he jumped through time?)

He’d told himself to treat the Olympics like it was just another competition. Prepare like he always does, focus his energy, go out and skate his best. But it’s so much more than that. The crowds of media, the rings plastered on every surface, the hundreds of other athletes. It’s overwhelming, and he sequesters himself in his hotel room the day before the individual event. He sits cross-legged on his bed, staring at the wall, breathing in and out. He tries to access the most confident part of himself. “You can do this,” he says out loud. “You’re going to win.”

Yuzu says the same thing to himself the next day, muttering under his breath as he waits to take the ice for the six-minute warmup. He feels the ice beneath his skates like it’s a living being, something holding him up and supporting him. He placates it with a caress as he leaves. _Thank you for letting me skate. Please keep working with me._

The announcer calls his name. “You know what to do,” Brian tells him, eyes locking with Yuzu’s. Yuzu draws strength from the assurance in Brian’s face. He pushes off from the boards and takes his position, waiting for the music. When it starts, he glides forward in one smooth motion. _I know what to do._

It’s after he lands the combination that he realizes: he’s having fun. There’s nowhere he’d rather be than on Olympic ice, skating this program. He’s doing well—he’s probably going to break his own record—but more than that, he’s enjoying himself. He throws himself into the step sequence with relish, like he’s dancing alone in his room. When he finishes, he points his finger in the air with triumph.

“I did it,” he exclaims breathlessly as he flops against Brian’s shoulder.

Brian chuckles. “You certainly did.” He cups Yuzu’s face with one of his big, warm hands. “I’m proud of you.”

Yuzu has to sit next to Ms. Kobayashi in the kiss and cry instead of Brian, because Javi is skating next, but she’s a lot less intimidating now that he’s conquered two Olympic skates. The score flashes up on the screen. _101.45_. Yuzu feels lighter than air, like he’s floating up to the ceiling. His fourth world record. The first time anyone’s ever gone over a hundred. He knew he was going to be the one to do it, after the Grand Prix Final, but he never thought he’d do it at the Olympics. He hears Ms. Kobayashi gasp next to him, turning to face him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Yuzu is ushered back to the green room. There’s a television in there, but he doesn’t pay much attention to the other skaters. No matter what they do, no one’s going to beat his score. He eats some applesauce, puts his sneakers on, takes a surreptitious selfie when the cameras are looking the other way.

The press conference is buzzing after the short program, reporters directing question after question to him. It gets a little overwhelming, everyone wanting to know how he feels, and he darts a look to Javi, seated on his left. Javi gives him a quick, reassuring smile. 

It’s when the press conference ends and they’re posing for a picture, Patrick on one side of him and Javi on the other, that it finally hits Yuzu. He doesn’t have to fight his way to the top tomorrow. He just has to skate well enough to hold onto his lead. The Olympic gold medal is within his grasp. He smiles once more for the cameras and then heads back to his hotel room.

Yuzu practically bounces into the rink the next day. He can’t wait to get back on the ice, to show everyone that he’s worthy of being Olympic champion. _Get ready, gold medal, here I come,_ he thinks. It’s the kind of thought he would normally suppress—it feels like tempting fate, to assume victory. And even if it’s a rational assumption, Yuzu has to be careful. When he gets too relaxed, his body loosens up, and his jumps falter. He needs the tension of fighting for victory to sharpen his performance. But everyone around him is acting like it’s a foregone conclusion, and he can’t help thinking it too. 

When his music starts, Yuzu is hit with a wallop of adrenaline out of nowhere. His arms feel shaky, all of a sudden. He launches into his first quad but the angle’s wrong, and he crashes to the ice. He shakes it off and keeps going, setting up for the quad toe. This one’s going to be almost perfect, he can tell in the air, and when he lands he soaks up the cheers. But his triple flip is shaky—of course the flip is betraying him—and he falls again. He starts the step sequence but he’s all off-balance now, and he doesn’t think he got all his levels. Maybe he was too confident after all.

Yuzu can practically see the gold medal fading away from him. He can’t let it get away, he can’t. He fights with all his might, battling through off-kilter jumps and wobbly steps. He hopes against hope that the judges are feeling lenient, that he’s not the only one who cracks under the pressure, that the desperation in his eyes will read as passionate interpretation of the music.

When Yuzu went back to _Romeo and Juliet_ for the Olympic season, he’d had in mind the same kind of triumph he’d achieved at his first Worlds. A passionate Romeo on top of the world, lifting his hands in joy at true love fulfilled. But this time around, he’s Juliet in the tomb, sinking into despair, watching his planned future slip away.

The choreo sequence has the same stabbing motion as the other program, a callback to the sacrifice that earned him the bronze. Yuzu does it frantically, quickly. The invisible knife feels real, sliding sharply between his ribs.

Two last spins—fuck, that one didn’t get all the levels either, what is wrong with him today. The music crescendos. He plants his hand on the ice, the other arm in the air. People applaud loudly, for some reason. His fingers curl into the ice, like it could help him now, after he’s messed it all up. _I’m sorry._

He picks himself up for his bows and gets off the ice. “You left everything out there,” Brian says, patting him on the back, and Yuzu supposes that’s true, technically. It doesn’t really make him feel better, though.

Despite all that, Yuzu is in first, but not by enough to make him relax. Patrick is up next, and a sudden wave of nausea hits Yuzu. This could be it, the end of his gold medal hopes. In the green room, he clutches his towel in both hands, until his knuckles go white. He wishes Pooh-san was here, instead of in his hotel room watching the TV.

But there’s something in the air, because Patrick is messy too. He doesn’t fall, but he doesn’t skate clean either. Patrick’s free skate score is a few tenths lower than Yuzu’s, and his shoulders slump in the kiss and cry. Yuzu is still in first. He takes a hesitant breath. 

Two more skaters left. Yuzu could still be dethroned—except whatever was wrong with him seems to be wrong with everyone else too. He’s glued to the screen backstage, trying to figure out exactly what’s going on. His name is still at the top of the list. It can’t be, not after that mess he put out.

“You’re in first,” a journalist tells him, and that’s when it finally starts to hit him.

“I’m the first?” he asks giddily. “I’m the first?”

“Yes!” the journalists and photographers chorus, amused. One volunteer looks like she wants to laugh at him.

“Oh my god,” Yuzu gasps out. It’s real. He’s the Olympic champion. He said he was going to do it, and he did it. His childhood dream. He puts his hand over his face, stunned. He might cry, or he might evaporate into thin air. The joy hits his bloodstream like caffeine, flooding his entire body. Olympic champion. Olympic champion.

He’s surrounded suddenly, swept up on a wave of attention. Competitors and coaches congratulating him, photographers snapping picture after picture, volunteers trying to herd him to wherever he’s supposed to go next. It pulls him along, buoying him up. Backstage, Yuzu hugs everyone he knows. Each _congratulations_ sends him higher and higher, into the clouds. He’s lighter than air, made of nothing but happiness.

But somewhere along the way, the giddiness bursts like a bubble, and he’s left with something more heavy and complicated. Maybe it’s when he sees a replay of his skate on the backstage TV, his ass hitting the ice after that tilted quad sal. Maybe it’s when he spots Javi, huddled with Brian and Tracy, Tracy’s hand stroking his back soothingly. Maybe it’s after he gets the first question about what this medal means for Sendai, a question that makes him want to laugh. Why should anyone in Sendai care that he won gold? It won’t put pavement on the streets or money in their pockets or bring anyone back from the dead.

“I feel like I’m helpless here,” he tells the reporters honestly. He doesn’t know what possesses him to bare his heart like this, except he can’t fake excitement. He won, yes, but it was nothing like he thought it would be. He didn’t do it properly, decisively, like he always pictured. The regrets from his program burn like aching muscles.

He already knows what the headlines will say: _Hanyu Wins Gold Despite Two Falls. Hanyu Squeaks to Victory._ Judging by all the questions about the earthquake, some of them will take the tragedy angle. They’ll call him a survivor, something that always sounds too grandiose to his ears. It’s not what you call a scared teenager who ran out of a building on instinct, any more than you’d use the word “champion” for someone who simply made one fewer mistake than anyone else. He’s not anyone special. He’s just some kid who got lucky.

The press conference finally ends, after what seems like an eternity, and Yuzu’s free to go back to his hotel room. He takes a long nap and has a vivid, obvious dream where he falls on every jump in a program and the crowd throws rotten fruit at him. He only wakes up when his mom calls him.

“We’re going to dinner,” his mom says. “Meet us in the lobby in fifteen minutes.” _Us_ means his parents, Saya, his grandparents, maybe someone else his mom has run into. Yuzu’s not in the mood.

“I’m not hungry,” Yuzu says. “I think I’ll just stay here and watch film.”

There’s an ominous pause. “Yuzuru,” his mom says finally, in her set-the-table-now voice. “You just won an Olympic gold medal. You will go to dinner and celebrate with us, I don’t care how many jumps you fell on.”

“Fine,” Yuzu says. He knows his mom’s right, even if it’s annoying. If he made his family happy, if they want to celebrate with him, that’s not nothing. And even if he stumbled blindly into this gold medal, it’s still his now. No one can take that away from him.

He’s glad he went to dinner, in the end. His family is giddy, hugging him and ruffling his hair. Yuzu rests in their happiness, the way he so often does, just listening to their laughter and chatter. As the evening wears on, Yuzu finds himself talking more, coaxed out of the gloom of his earlier thoughts. The joy from those first moments after his win comes back, a little glow of warmth in his chest.

When they part, his entire family says goodbye to him, one by one. Only his mom can stay for the gala, so this is the last time he’ll see them for a little while. Yuzu’s chest tightens with guilt when he thinks of how close he came to blowing them off. They each hug him in turn, sending him out the door with a chorus of love: _We’re so proud of you, you were beautiful, rest well, you’ve earned it._

His mom turns to him with an I-told-you-so look on her face. “Aren’t you glad you came?” she says.

“Yeah,” Yuzu says, smiling. Abruptly, tears come into his eyes, and he shakes his head a little, willing them away.

His mom puts an arm around him, drawing him in briefly. “I’m very proud of you.” She kisses his cheek, lightly. “My Olympic champion.”

Yuzu lets the words sink in. _Olympic champion._ It gives him a little thrill, despite everything. That’s _him_. When he gets back to his room, he gives his laptop a glance, thinking about watching his free skate. But then he thinks better of it, sliding under the covers and snuggling into his pillows. 

****  
The next day, when Yuzu isn’t doing interviews, he stays in his room. He sits crosslegged on his bed, with his notebooks, the protocols, and his laptop spread out around him. He reviews the jumps he messed up, the spins that lost levels, and it’s painful but in the good way, like a workout that lasts a little too long. Every twinge in his chest is fuel for the next skate. He can’t wait to get back on practice ice, so he can run the sal over and over again. He has some ideas about launch angles he needs to try out.

The day after that is gala practice. It’s weird to be surrounded by people again, after spending so much time in his own head, and Yuzu is a little overwhelmed at first. He skates around the perimeter of the rink. His legs are stiff, after a day off-ice, so he starts slow, then gets faster, gliding with deep, smooth strokes. The ice starts to soothe him, the way it always does, and he finishes with a snowplow stop right near a group of skaters. They’re talking and laughing, messing around the way people do at galas.

At the other edge of the group, a little removed from everyone else, is Javi. His hands are in the pockets of his sweatshirt, his head tilted downward. Even from this distance Yuzu can see that the wound of losing the bronze is still raw. He’s embarrassed, suddenly, that he hasn’t talked to Javi since the free skate. Javi must think he’s an asshole.

He skates over to Javi, poking him in the stomach. “Hey,” Yuzu says.

Javi smiles, a brief twitch of his lips that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hey there.” He pauses. “Champion.”

“Not very good champion,” Yuzu says.

Javi snorts. “I’ll take the gold if you don’t want it.” He holds out his hand, jokingly, but his eyes are serious, full of longing.

Yuzu shakes his head vigorously. “Sorry, I’m jerk to be so sad when I have medal.” He looks in Javi’s eyes, holding his gaze. “I wish you on podium with me.” It’s true, which surprises him. Not just because he doesn’t want Javi to be sad—something felt wrong, being up there without his biggest rival. They’ve been neck and neck all year, and it should have been that way here, too.

Javi swallows hard. “Thanks, Yuzu. That means a lot.” He slings an arm around Yuzu’s shoulder, the way he does during practice sometimes. “Guess it can’t be helped, huh?”

Yuzu doesn’t really know what Javi means, but he can still see sadness in Javi’s eyes, and what scares him more, resignation. Javi’s better than Zayaked jumps and fourth place. “We fight it again at Worlds. You get bronze, I get my sal. Revenge.”

Javi smiles for real at that. “You’re the weirdest person I know, Yuzu.”

“Hey!” Yuzu says. “How is weird? Every competition revenge for mistakes in the last one. Is how you get better.”

“Hmm, I like that,” Javi says. His face looks mischievous. “You better watch out, though. I might decide to take my revenge all the way to gold.”

“Noooo,” Yuzu whines, playfully. “You can’t catch me!”

“Oh, really,” Javi says, reaching for Yuzu’s waist. Yuzu can see what’s coming and ducks away from the tickles, racing toward the other end of the rink. A few of the other skaters spot them and join in, and it becomes a chase, up and down until they’re exhausted and laughing and the gala choreographer yells at them to stand still for once. Yuzu plops down onto the ice, legs splaying out, purely happy.

At the gala, he skates to “White Legend.” It feels right, to skate the first thing he skated after the earthquake here. He can’t do much for Sendai, but he can do this. He puts everything into it, the joy and the heaviness and the longing, all the complicated feelings from the past week. When he skates as the swan, it seems possible that everything difficult and harsh in his life could be combined into one beautiful, seamless whole. The swan is forgiving—it always carries whatever he puts on its back.

Tilting his head up to the sky at the end, he sees the faces of the crowd shining like stars. The stars shone like this on the night of the earthquake, too, bright and fierce in the pitch black. Sometimes a little faraway light is as close to hope as you can get.

He ends up next to Javi when they take their bows at the end, gripping his hand. They circle the rink to thank the fans. Yuzu’s arms start to hurt from waving. Behind him, Javi whoops and yells in response to some fans chanting “Ja-vi, Ja-vi.” 

Yuzu bends down as he steps through the open rink door, putting both hands on the ice firmly. _Thanks for the gold. I’ll make it better next time._ When he straightens up and turns around, Javi is right in front of him, standing next to Misha. Both of them are beaming.

Misha claps Yuzu on the back. “So. Mr. Champion. What are you doing next?”

The question takes Yuzu off guard. He hasn’t been thinking about _next_ ; despite what he said to Javi about fighting for revenge at Worlds, a part of him has been haunted by the research he did. After all, timeskips generally happen right after a major event or achievement. But it’s been a week since the gold now, and he’s still here in this timeline, so maybe he was right after all. Maybe the gold medal was the reason he skipped, and now he’ll just keep going day by day, the way life is supposed to be lived.

“Practice quad sal,” Yuzu says. “Get it perfect.”

Misha and Javi look at him quizzically. “Right now?” Javi asks. “Aren’t your legs tired?”

“Oh, I thought you mean, after Olympics,” Yuzu says, shaking his head at himself. “Right now I go to bed.”

Javi looks a little crestfallen.

“You sure?” Misha asks. “Because the two of us are going to the McDonald’s for milkshakes, and then we’re going to play video games in Javi’s room.” He looks hopefully at Yuzu. “Join us?”

It does sound tempting. But the Olympics are almost over, and Yuzu needs to get back to his normal routine. “Not tonight. Next time.”

“All right,” Misha says, skeptically, drawing out the words a little like he’s giving Yuzu time to change his mind. “See you.”

“See you tomorrow, Yuzu,” Javi says with a smile.

“Bye,” Yuzu says, turning around and hurrying backstage.

Once he’s back in his room, finally clean and fresh again, he does feel a little twinge of regret. It would have been fun to hang out with Misha and Javi. But if he wants to win Worlds and complete his triple crown, he needs to start eliminating distractions now. There are already so many new ones since he’s won the gold—the interview requests, the photographers following him everywhere, the plans for a parade in Sendai that are being formed. He doesn’t have room for anything else. He’ll see Misha and Javi at the closing ceremony tomorrow, and that will have to be enough.

Yuzu picks up his phone to set his alarm. There’s a text from Javi: _wish u were here_ and a selfie of Javi and Misha, milkshakes in front of them. Yuzu swipes the notification away, sets the alarm, and gets into bed.

****

Yuzu wakes up slowly. His head feels foggy, worse than the worst jet lag he’s ever experienced. He can’t figure out exactly what his eyes are seeing as they open. It’s too bright and clean to be his hotel room, unless he left the curtains open by mistake, or housekeeping came in while he was asleep. Which would be weird for the, the—what was it called, the competition he’s just won? The word rises slowly into his mind. The Olympics. That’s right. Why couldn’t he remember that?

He shifts a little, feeling for his phone on the bedside table, and a sharp pain shoots through his torso, pinning him in place. His hand hits a railing, rattling it. Oh, no. Where is he?

He forces himself to open his eyes all the way, with an effort that feels like climbing a flight of stairs. He sees a window with pale blue curtains, looking out onto a grey building he doesn’t recognize. A television mounted on the wall, a chair in the corner, a machine beeping somewhere off to his right. There’s a whiteboard next to the television, and he squints to read it, vision blurry without his glasses. HANYU YUZURU, ASTHMA RISK, it says in big, blocky kanji. He looks down at himself, lying under bright white sheets and a stiff bedspread. An IV line is embedded in his left hand.

Panic courses through him, and only the memory of the earlier pain prevents him from sitting bolt upright in bed and yelling. This is a hospital. A hospital in Japan. He’s in the future, and something terrible has happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry. Until next time...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note: this chapter contains extensive descriptions of hospitalization, non-graphic discussion of medical procedures, and detailed but non-graphic discussion of injury and recovery.

Yuzu reaches out again, gingerly, feeling the bars on his hospital bed. Trying to be sure it’s real. A sharp wave of pain rolls up his body. He whimpers, and lowers his head back onto the pillow. His eyes fill with hot, stinging tears. 

After a few minutes, Yuzu hears a door creak open. He turns his head towards it, slowly and carefully. His mom tiptoes into the room.

“Yuzu?” she calls softly. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” Yuzu tries to say. It comes out in a croak, a harsh noise barely recognizable as a word.

His mom’s mouth turns upward, in an attempt at a smile. She pulls over a chair to his bedside and sits down. There are dark circles under her eyes, and her brow is drawn into a sharp line. She looks openly frightened, vulnerable in a way he’s not used to seeing her, and it sends another shiver of panic through him. What happened to him must have been really bad, to make her look like this.

Yuzu reaches out for his mom’s hand, instinctively. She takes it, squeezing lightly.

“How do you feel?” his mom murmurs. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

Yuzu can’t even begin to answer that question. Another noise escapes him, halfway between a whimper and a sob.

“My poor baby,” his mom says, her voice hoarse. She strokes her hand gently through Yuzu’s hair, humming softly. Yuzu relaxes into it, letting himself be comforted. 

“Do you want anything?” his mom asks, after a while. “I need to call Coach Brian and let him know the surgery was successful.”

Yuzu goes cold all over. What does that mean? Presumably, all this was explained to his other self before he went under. If he asks again, it’ll freak people out, like his memory was damaged by the anesthesia or something. He needs—

“Is Kikuchi-san here?” Yuzu asks.

“Yes, he’s here. He wanted to see you anyway. I can send him in.” She leans in and brushes her lips lightly on his forehead, barely a touch. “I’ll be back soon.”

Yuzu closes his eyes while he waits for Kikuchi. He feels exhausted, groggy again, like he talked to his mom for hours instead of just a few minutes. His back itches and his stomach throbs, his whole body encased in discomfort.

He hears the door creak again and opens his eyes quickly. Kikuchi walks over and sits down in the chair.

“I’m glad you’re awake now. I was worried about you,” Kikuchi says, matter-of-factly. “Your mother said you were asking for me?”

Yuzu doesn’t have the energy for a long-winded explanation. “I skipped in time again.”

“Oh,” Kikuchi says, quietly stunned. “From when?”

“Sochi. The gala.”

Kikuchi’s eyes widen, and he swallows hard. “I see.”

“What happened?” Yuzu asks, frantically. “What did I do?”

“You’re just coming out of surgery,” Kikuchi says. “I don’t want to wear you out—“

“Please just tell me,” Yuzu begs. “I can’t just keep lying here not knowing.”

Kikuchi sighs, long and drawn-out. “Well. I’ll give you the good news first. You won Worlds right after the Olympics, you won the Grand Prix Final, and you just won Nationals.”

“Did I get hurt at Nationals?” Yuzu asks.

Kikuchi shakes his head. “You had a urachal remnant disorder—there was some tissue left over in your body from before you were born that got infected, and it had to be removed. Near your stomach. The doctors said they took it all out, just now.”

“Oh,” Yuzu says. “I thought it was something really bad. My mom looked really worried.”

Kikuchi gives Yuzu a strange look. “You’ve been having this problem since the Grand Prix Final, but you refused to have it operated on until after Nationals, and you made it a lot worse. Besides—“ he shuts his mouth abruptly, as if he’s changed his mind about speaking.

“What?” Yuzu asks.

“Perhaps you know that people with asthma are at a greater risk of complications from surgery and anesthesia,” Kikuchi says. “I don’t think the doctor needed to give your mother as much detail as he did, but he wasn’t wrong about what could happen.”

For the first time since waking up, Yuzu feels something that isn’t pain or fear—an overwhelming urge to yell at that doctor for scaring his mom so badly. When it passes, he realizes Kikuchi has still been talking, almost to himself.

“—you haven’t exactly been the easiest person to deal with this season,” Kikuchi is saying. “After the accident, I wouldn’t blame her for getting frightened at every little thing.”

Yuzu swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. “What accident?”

Kikuchi starts, like he didn’t mean to say that out loud. “We can talk more after you rest—“

“What accident?” Yuzu demands.

Kikuchi is silent for a moment. When he starts talking again, he doesn’t look at Yuzu, fixing his eyes on the wall above his bed. His face is tense. “You were at the Cup of China this fall, and during the warmups for the free skate, you collided with another skater.”

Yuzu winces. “How bad was it?” He’s afraid he already knows the answer.

“Bad,” Kikuchi says. “You were laying on the ice for a while. You cut your chin and your head, and you were pretty beat up everywhere else. The medics said you didn’t have a concussion, but—“ he trails off. “You were pretty out of it.”

“You said I won the Grand Prix Final,” Yuzu says. In his woozy state, he can’t quite put the pieces together, but something is gradually becoming clear to him. “That means—“

“You went back out and skated,” Kikuchi says. “You made them bandage you up and send you back out there, and you fell on almost every jump, but you were in first after the short and you rotated them all, so you finished in second.” Kikuchi chuckles bitterly. “And then you couldn’t walk, and you were told not to skate again until the pain was gone, but the NHK Trophy was coming up and the pain wasn’t gone yet, so you got back on the ice and toughed it out to fourth place.”

“And now this,” Yuzu says, looking down at the IV in his hand.

“One of the doctors here thinks the infection was caused by the collision,” Kikuchi says. “You landed pretty hard on your stomach, and he thinks that dislodged the urachal remnant.”

White-hot anger wells up in Yuzu. What the fuck is his future self doing, sending him here? Shouldn’t he have been sent to prevent the accident, decide not to skate again, get the surgery before it got really infected? Why was he sent here, too late to do anything? The tears come back, leaking out of his eyes and down his face.

“You’re going to be okay,” Kikuchi says soothingly. “You have to take some time to recover, but you’ll be able to skate again. You’ll probably be able to skate Worlds.”

“That’s not it,” Yuzu says. “Why—I just don’t get it. I thought I needed to win the Olympics to stop the skips, and then I won it. I thought I was done with them. But now I’m here instead, and I already fucked up so bad—“ He briefly wonders if he should curse in front of Kikuchi, but Kikuchi doesn’t seem to care. “I don’t get it,” he says again, raising a hand to wipe away the tears that are now flowing freely.

Kikuchi is quiet for a while. “I wish I knew why you skipped,” he says, finally. “But you have to figure that out yourself, unfortunately.”

“Ugh,” Yuzu groans.

“You really should rest,” Kikuchi says. “It’ll look different when you feel a little better.”

Yuzu’s suddenly, intensely exhausted. “Okay.” He closes his eyes. 

“Rest well,” Kikuchi says softly. Yuzu hears him stand up and leave, shutting the door gently behind him. Then Yuzu’s asleep again.

He’s prodded awake a few hours later by doctors who want to check his vitals and adjust his meds, and then again a few hours after that by his mom, who sets down a container of plain rice in front of him. Yuzu’s not a food lover at the best of times, and the thought of putting anything in his mouth right now makes his stomach turn, but he eats a couple bites for his mom’s sake. It’s bland enough that it’s practically like eating nothing at all, and he ends up almost finishing the container. Of course his mom knew what he’d be able to eat. He looks at her gratefully, and she smiles.

“I brought you a friend, too,” his mom says, digging in her purse. It’s his old teddy bear, Kumakuma, face a little squished from the journey. “Pooh-san has too many sharp corners for this situation, so I figured you needed someone else.” She sets Kumakuma on the bed next to Yuzu.

Yuzu is not crying about how his mom always knows what he needs and how much he wanted something to hug just now, he’s _not._ “Thank you.”

“Get some more rest, okay?” his mom says. “I’ll be sleeping here tonight, so if you need me, just call out.”

Yuzu dozes off again. The night and the next day are more of the same. Yuzu sleeps, or lies with his eyes closed, his mind so clouded and sluggish it’s barely like consciousness at all. He’s roused every once in a while, to eat more or get his blood pressure checked or talk to his mom a little. But he spends most of his time on naps.

He’s tired enough from the surgery, and probably the competition before it as well, that he truly needs the rest. But he also just doesn’t want to be awake. He’s so used to being in complete control of his body that the numbing dullness of the pain meds is disconcerting, like he’s buried deep in sand. Even with the meds, he still has pain, sharp stabs and constant aches near his navel. His skin is itchy and tight. And that’s not to mention all the things he’s worried about: the timeskipping, the recovery, when he’ll get to skate again. All in all, unconsciousness seems like the better choice.

But after two days of this, Yuzu finally can’t do it anymore. It’s two in the morning and he’s wide awake suddenly, no sleep left in him. There are hives on his arms and a throbbing pain in his navel and everything sucks and he can’t escape back into sleep. His mom is sleeping deeply on a cot nearby, her breathing soft and heavy; he can’t wake her just because he’s bored and irritable. He shifts slightly, wincing, and reaches for his phone on the table near the bed. 

He has forty-seven new emails, which makes him want to chuck his phone across the room. Plans for his recovery, questions about how much information to release about his surgery, information about the Worlds team, et cetera, et cetera. He’s relieved that his mom is responding to some of these, but scrolling through his email still makes him feel like he’s falling into a pit. Why is his life always so complicated?

He opens his messaging apps instead, but that doesn't really reassure him. He has “get well soon” messages from practically every single member of Team Japan, including people that don’t normally message him. He chuckles at Nobu’s, which features seven exclamation points and a whole line of emojis, and at Shoma’s, which just says _get well_ , but mostly he just feels overwhelmed, thinking about responding to all of them. They probably understand why he hasn’t responded yet, but he still feels guilty, even if he doesn’t have the energy.

People from the Cricket Club have sent him messages, too: a selfie of Jeff and Ghislain making exaggerated frowning faces; an exclamation point-bedecked “get well soon” from Tracy; a picture of the rink with “wish u were here” from Nam. Brian has sent him one message, and only one, which says “if you’re back on your phone please don’t worry about anything.” How does Brian always know the right thing to say?

He finally opens the messages from Javi, which have an ominous (7) next to them. Why did Javi text him so much? He scrolls to the top and reads down:

_Yuzu!!!!! Congrats on Nationals, now we’re both champions XD_

_Are you okay? Tracy told me you had to go to the hospital?_

_I hope everything’s ok :(_

_So sorry you have to have surgery :((((( hope your feeling better really really soon_

_Brian told me you’re ok and not to bother you but I’m so glad you’re okay!!!_

_Hope you’re resting well lol_

_If you want to talk I'm always here_

Yuzu laughs in spite of himself. Of course Javi would keep texting him even after Brian told him to stop. He starts typing a reply. _Thank you for messages! I am okay. Hurts a lot but I will be fine._

The little typing bubble appears almost as soon as Yuzu’s message is sent.

_Yuzu!!!!!!!!!_

Yuzu laughs some more, a dry, wheezing noise that hurts his stomach a little. Another message pops up as he’s wincing, then another.

_I’m sorry you’re hurting :(_

_I hope you feel better_

_When will you be back in Cricket?_

Yuzu’s not even sure when he’ll be able to leave the room. He took a short, cautious trip to the bathroom today, where his mom helped him sponge down and washed his hair, and he had to rest for an hour to recover. _I don’t know. A while._

Javi types fast, more messages appearing as Yuzu stares at his phone. _:((((_

_Brian said it might be a long time but I thought he was just trying to get rid of me lol_

_Isn’t it late there? Shouldn’t you be sleeping?_

Yuzu’s embarrassed when tears well up in his eyes. What’s happened to him, that some simple words of concern are making him weepy? But the thought of Javi pestering Brian for news on him, worrying about his health and his sleep, makes Yuzu feel warm inside. It’s like Javi’s lifting a hand to pull him off the ice, the way he does at practice.

 _Can’t sleep,_ Yuzu types before he regrets it. He doesn’t really want Javi to know how hard it is right now, how pathetic he’s feeling. But when Javi offers comfort, Yuzu’s never been able to resist taking it.

Javi’s next message is a picture of two cats curled up together. One of them looks like Javi’s cat, Effie; the other one Yuzu doesn’t recognize. Javi sends another: _Effie and Roni say it’s bedtime_

Yuzu smiles. _tell Effie and Roni I say thank you._ He yawns in spite of himself. Something about the sleeping cats is actually making him sleepy somehow. Javi is a wizard. _I try to sleep now, good night!_ He adds a grinning emoji for good measure.

Yuzu only gets four hours of sleep before he has to get his vitals taken again, but it feels like much longer. He saves the picture of Effie and Roni. Maybe sleeping cats are some kind of mind hack for getting sleepy. Not that he’ll need it for much longer, hopefully. He’ll be better soon.

****  
Recovery absolutely sucks. Yuzu read a manga once about a hero with super-healing powers who recovered quickly from every attack of his enemies. Yuzu has the opposite of that—every injury he’s ever had has taken so much longer to heal than he expects. To make matters worse, he’s allergic to about half the stuff they give him—some of the antibiotics, the alcohol they use to disinfect the tubes sticking out of him—and so he keeps breaking out in weird rashes and hives. Yuzu doesn’t want to dwell too much on something he can’t fix, but this whole thing is so miserable that it’s hard to keep his mind off it.

Everything moves so slowly, as slowly as his legs when his mom helps him stand up and shuffle to the bathroom. He doesn’t need as much rest after the first few days, but this just means more time awake, long, dragging hours punctuated by visits from doctors and physical therapists. He watches a little film of himself, but it feels useless when he can’t implement the things he notices. He tries some light image training, but waving his arms around hurts. So he watches soccer and talk shows on the hospital TV, reads manga, catches up on homework. (His other self left a lot of detailed notes, which Yuzu is grateful for.)

Buzzing like a current at the back of his mind every day is the worry, the wonder: what brought him forward in time, and what can he do to stop it? What lesson is he supposed to learn? It feels like it’d be impossible to learn anything, lying in a hospital bed with a rash all over his body and a constant throbbing by his navel. He has flashes of rage at his future self, for not skipping him past this part, too.

Maybe he’s supposed to learn patience. It’s about the only reason he can think of that he’s being made to suffer through this. He tries it out: taking deep breaths, chatting lightly with his visitors, accepting whatever part of the boring hospital routine comes next. It’s not always successful, but at least it gives him something else to think about. 

After a week, his mom feels secure enough about his health that she spends the night in the hotel room with the rest of his family. It’s been eight days by the time he finally graduates to walks up and down the hospital hallway, slow and shuffling at first but gradually a little longer, a little faster. After ten days they let him sit up in a chair most of the time, instead of in his bed, and he’s surprised to find it doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. At twelve days most of the hives have stopped. On the thirteenth day, his mom comes in early, and she’s in a good mood, smiling a real smile for once.

“The doctors think they can release you tomorrow,” she announces.

Yuzu’s heart lifts. “Finally.”

His mom chuckles. “Poor kid, you’ve probably forgotten what it looks like outside.”

“What do I need to do next?” Yuzu asks. He’s guessing they probably won’t let him back on the ice yet, but he hopes he doesn’t have to do too much more resting. He wants to skate.

His mom looks a little more serious. “You’ve got about two and a half months to Worlds. You do need some more time before you get back on the ice—the doctors were saying two weeks, probably—but then you can start training again. They’ve recommended you don’t fly until the two weeks is up, so you can take that rest at home. But after that, it’s up to you.”

“What do you mean, it’s up to me?”

“I’ve been talking to Coach Brian,” his mom says, sitting down in her usual chair. “He suggested you might want to stay in Japan and train for Worlds here. He’ll make a training plan for you and he trusts you to follow it. Of course, if you want to go back to Cricket, we can get a flight back to Toronto for two weeks from now. But if you’d rather stay here, you can do that too. It’s your choice either way.”

Yuzu’s surprised. He never expected to have a decision to make here—he just assumed they’d be traveling back to Toronto, sooner if not later. The Cricket Club is his home base now, and besides, the facilities there are much more suited to his needs. He doesn’t have to train at off hours the way he does at Ice Rink Sendai, doesn’t have to go elsewhere for massages and exercises. 

But there are disadvantages to the Cricket Club, too. Too many people there are worried about him, too many will be watching him like a hawk for any sign of struggle. He doesn’t want to see pity in the other skaters’ eyes as he fights to regain his form. He doesn’t want to answer endless questions about his condition. Most of all, he doesn’t want anyone to see him like he is now—not Brian with his ideas about sharing Yuzu’s burdens, not Tracy with her worried mother’s eyes, and especially not Javi, who is surely working hard to beat him at Worlds. At Ice Rink Sendai, he’ll be completely on his own. His hardships will be exclusively his responsibility, the way they should be. He won’t have to let anyone else see how weak he is right now, and he can emerge at Worlds with the strength he needs to get the gold.

“I’d like to stay here,” Yuzu says.

His mother nods. “All right.” She leaves, presumably to get everything settled.

Yuzu is relieved. He hadn’t realized that a small part of him was dreading having to face everyone back in Toronto. But now he doesn’t have to.

As if on cue, his phone dings. It’s a message from Javi. _How r u?_

Yuzu smiles. _Getting released from hospital tomorrow!_

Javi’s response comes at the end of a long line of confetti emojis. _will I see u soon? :D_

Yuzu’s heart sinks. He didn’t think about this part when he decided to stay. At least he doesn’t have to disappoint Javi face to face. _staying in japan to worlds. Sorry._

Three frowning emojis. _at least u’ll be at home. I’ll miss u_

Yuzu doesn’t really know what to say to that. He stares at the message for a long time before putting his phone away. Two hours later he finally takes it out again. _see you at worlds_ he types, then sends.

The next day Yuzu is released, out into the freezing cold of a Tuesday in early January. In the van on the way to the train station, looking out the window as buildings go whizzing by, Yuzu feels a glimmer of happiness, for the first time in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Kuma" is Japanese for "bear", which means that Yuzu's esteemed stuffed friend I invented is named Bear-bear (like 90% of teddy bears owned by little kids...naming a bear is hard when you only know like six words, it's fine)
> 
> also, my greatest wish for the 2018-19 season is that nothing happens to Yuzu that I'd need to warn for in a fic. leave the poor dude alone, universe


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Worlds 2015 is an emotional rollercoaster, and the summer tour brings shenanigans...and a little bit of intrigue.

The black van pulls up to the hotel in Shanghai. Yuzu takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. Starting now, he has to be on at all times, projecting the image of the steely, confident competitor. A high wall that will be impossible for the others to surpass.

His actual confidence is somewhere much lower. During his first training period after the surgery, he sprained his ankle, and had to be off the ice for another two weeks. He’s had nowhere near as much time to prepare as he needed, and his stamina’s still suffering after so much time idle. But Yuzu knows that half the battle on the ice is mental. If he thinks and acts like he’s on top of the world, maybe he can will himself back there.

Technically, he thinks as he rolls his suitcase down the carpeted hallway, he’s never been on top of the world before. This version of himself has only experienced his first Worlds in 2012 and the free skate the next year. He knows he’s the reigning world champion, but it wasn’t really him doing it. Just like the way his body is twenty, but his consciousness is at least a year behind. The whole thing makes his head hurt to think about, so he pushes it out of his mind.

Yuzu takes a nap, and unpacks some of his stuff, and fiddles around with arranging his room. He has to go meet Brian for practice in a little while, and he’s dreading it. He’s not going to be able to hide from Brian, no matter how hard he tries. Eventually, Yuzu pulls himself together to face the music. He grabs his bags, zips up his track jacket, and heads for the rink.

Brian is waiting for him, arms crossed. His face is gentle, but his eyes bore into Yuzu, searching him. “How are you feeling today?”

“Fine,” Yuzu says. He can see Brian flinch a little.

“Well, how about you warm up for a little bit and then go through some jumps, and we’ll see where you’re at,” Brian says.

Yuzu takes the ice. He glides up and down, back and forth, for as long as he can stand, until he gets impatient and starts running his jumps. His triple axel soars, but his quad sal is wobbly again. Just when he thinks he’s past his difficulties with it, it stabs him in the back. _Maybe if my timeline stabilized my jumps would too,_ he thinks bitterly. After he pops it three times in a row, he skates reluctantly over to Brian.

“Watch your timing,” Brian says, calmly. “I know you only started practicing quads again a few weeks ago, but your body still knows the timing, if you let it. Just trust that your muscles remember.”

Yuzu looks around in a panic. “Don’t say so loud!” he hisses, desperately.

Brian’s face changes, like he’s just realizing something. “I’m sorry.” He drums his fingers on the boards, frowning. “Tell you what. Do a runthrough of your short program and then you’ll be done for the day. And don’t push too hard—if something isn’t working, don’t reach for it.”

“Okay,” Yuzu says, confused.

“I should have thought of that,” Brian says, almost to himself. “You don’t have to show anything in practices you don’t want to show. Focus on what you know you can do, and you can give the impression you want to give.”

Yuzu nods once, twice. He knows Brian’s right—he probably should have thought of all this himself—but he hates that Brian read him like a book. At least they probably won’t talk about it again. He skates off to run through his choreo at center ice.

The rest of the practices are more of the same. Not all of Yuzu’s jumps are working, but he doesn’t drill them too much, deciding instead to pretend he can’t be bothered. He does a lot of triple axels. Good old reliable triple axel, the only jump that never fails him. He sees Brezina eyeing his axel with open envy in his face, and it gives him a boost of confidence. Maybe all this projection is working.

Outside of practices, he doesn’t talk much to anyone. He watches so much film that when he falls asleep in the middle of a study session, he dreams the rest of the video perfectly. He eats whatever his nutritionist brings him, mechanically. He tells a host of people that he’s fine: his mom, Kikuchi, Brian, Tracy, Javi, who grabs his arm and asks if he wants to get lunch. “We see each other after competition,” Yuzu says, dislodging his arm from Javi’s grip, and pretends he doesn’t see the disappointment in Javi’s eyes. He has to keep the wall up. If he lets anyone in at this stage of the game, it’s all lost.

For one glorious day, it seems to work. Sure, his opening jump in the short program was wobbly, and he had to put his hand down, but he pulled it together after that, absorbing himself completely in the delicate notes of the piano. It all flowed smoothly, building and building until the last thunderous chord, and Yuzu raised his fists in triumph. He pulled ahead of Javi, ahead of everyone, just barely in the lead but in the lead nonetheless. He just has to make it through tomorrow, and he has a chance.

But the next day, it all comes crashing down. He pops the quad sal at the beginning of his program, just like he’s been popping it all week, and then he falls on the quad toe. Desperately, he fights for the rest of the program, hanging on to every tilted jump and pulling out the strength for spins and steps. He’s bone-tired, the way he was when he got back on the ice after surgery, and terrified, but he’s not going to give up. When his last jump is over, relief pours through him.

 _It’s over now, the music of the night,_ the singer roars, and Yuzu roars with him, flinging himself into the choreo sequence. Just the final spins left. He lifts his arms at the end, feigning triumph, but he knows. He couldn’t fake his way through this one.

The audience erupts in applause, and Pooh bears rain down all around him in a flood, but it barely registers. Their joy is flattering, encouraging, but it’s not what he was looking for today. He’s in first, for now, but Javi is next, and if he skates at all clean, Yuzu’s in trouble.

A few minutes later, Yuzu sits in the green room, hands clasped in front of him, watching Javi. It’s funny, but once Javi starts skating, part of Yuzu forgets that he’s at Worlds, watching his biggest competitor. It’s like they’re back in the Cricket Club, having one of those run-through days, and Yuzu wants to see a clean skate and ring the bell for Javi. He winces instinctively when Javi steps out of his second quad and falls. But just like Yuzu, Javi fights through, gathering strength as his music builds. He lands his jumps by the skin of his teeth, but he sells them—Javi’s always been good at making his mistakes look like artistic choices. Yuzu claps every time. Next to him on the green room sofa, Nam giggles.

“What?” Yuzu asks.

“You guys always clap for each other,” Nam says. “It’s nice, but aren’t you worried he’ll beat you?” 

“Even if he beat me, I still have to clap,” Yuzu says indignantly.

“Javi says literally the exact same thing,” Nam says. “You’re such weirdos.”

A little glow of warmth kindles in Yuzu, hearing that. Maybe they haven’t seen each other in months, but Javi is still as supportive as ever.

Javi finishes his skate with a sheepish grin, clearly still chagrined by his fall at the beginning. The camera turns to the green room, and Yuzu claps even harder. As Javi settles himself in the kiss and cry between Brian and the lady from the Spanish federation, he points his fingers at his eyes and then towards the camera, like he’s telling Yuzu “I’ve got my eye on you.” Yuzu cracks up in spite of himself, covering his face with his hands so the camera doesn’t pick up his laugh. He can feel the other men in the green room looking at him strangely.

The scores come out, and Yuzu’s stunned. Javi’s beaten him in the free skate, erasing Yuzu’s tiny lead from the day before. There are two more skaters left to go, but they’re too far back to make any moves. Javi’s going to be World Champion. Yuzu never thought this would happen, and yet here they are. He claps so hard his hands hurt.

Javi and Brian don’t realize for a while. They sit there, looking at the scores and nodding, until the announcer calls “First place!” Then Javi gasps, looking just as stunned as Yuzu feels, accepting hugs and congratulations with that shell-shocked expression. He makes a bleating noise of disbelief. Yuzu feels a grin spread over his own face. Of all the ways to react to winning a world championship, this is the most Javi one.

It’s only later that Yuzu fully realizes what this means. Javi walks into the green room, and it hits Yuzu like a hard fall: Javi is World Champion, which means Yuzu isn’t World Champion. He fought through the surgery and the timeskipping and the sprained ankle and the shitty jumps and it wasn’t enough. He wants to be happy for Javi—he _is_ happy for Javi, and so proud of him—but he also wants to go back to his room, lie facedown on the bed, and sob. He feels the telltale prickle in his eyes that means tears are starting, and he shakes his head fiercely. He can’t cry about this here.

Javi walks over to Yuzu, his face still full of joy and disbelief, and Yuzu swallows hard. They both open their arms at the same time, and then they’re hugging, and hugging some more. A victory hug, the “welcome back” hug Yuzu postponed so he could focus on Worlds, the hugs they would have had if they were training together. Javi cradles Yuzu’s head against his chest, rocking them back and forth.

“I’m really proud of you,” Yuzu says. “You do so good—“ Fuck, he’s crying, he can’t stop the tears. He breaks away to wipe at his eyes.

Javi’s face softens. “Are you crying?”

“No, no, I’m not crying.” Yuzu shakes his head. “I’m not.”

“It’s okay,” Javi says, cupping Yuzu’s neck with both hands. His fingers stroke the hair at Yuzu’s nape. “I know you wanted to win.”

Yuzu’s heart sinks. Javi must think he’s so selfish. “I promise, I happy for you. I am—“

“I know,” Javi says. He pulls Yuzu back in.

“I wish we both can win,” Yuzu says, miserably.

“You know,” Javi murmurs, “I may have won today, but—you’re always the champion, in my heart.”

“Oh,” Yuzu squeaks, and more tears come, but he doesn’t bother to wipe them away. He feels like he should be embarrassed, breaking down in front of Javi like this, but it’s mostly a relief. It’s been exhausting, hiding himself away, pretending he’s more okay than he feels. For a few minutes, he lets it all go. Javi will understand.

They hug until Yuzu calms down, and then Javi lets go, gently. “I think we need some water right now,” he says, and goes off to hunt for some in his bag. He finds two bottles, and tosses one over to Yuzu, who takes it eagerly. Crying always makes him thirsty.

Javi smiles at him as Yuzu gulps down water. “Feeling better?”

Javi’s eyes are bright and gentle, creased at the corners from the force of his smile. His whole body is angled towards Yuzu, like Yuzu rehydrating is the only important thing happening right now.

“Yeah,” Yuzu says, and he’s not just saying it. How does Javi do it? “You are too nice.”

Javi’s smile gets even wider. “So are you.” Someone from the Spanish federation comes in to herd him off to an interview, leaving Yuzu to sit there and wonder why Javi would say something so obviously untrue. He’s never been as nice as Javi.

Before he goes to sleep that night, Yuzu takes a long look around his room— the generic hotel art, the drawn curtains, the box with the silver medal on his bedside table—in case he wakes up in the future again. The nature of timeskipping, or of the lesson he’s supposed to learn, isn’t getting any clearer to him as time goes on, but he does know how to recognize a pattern when he sees one. And he’s woken up in the future after medaling at two major competitions so far. Better safe than sorry.

But Yuzu wakes up the next morning in the exact same hotel room, to a text from his mom reminding him to get to gala practice on time. So he’s got some more time in the present, after all. Might as well enjoy it.

His exhibition routine this year is, apparently, to a song called “The Final Time Traveler,” which made Yuzu chuckle ruefully when he found out. He wonders if his other self, the one who emailed Kenji the song and asked for choreography, knows how good a joke this is. He listens to it on repeat, watches a video of himself at the Grand Prix Final gala, trying to immerse himself in the program as if he’s been skating it all along.

Waiting at the edge of the rink for his name to be called, Yuzu has the feeling he sometimes gets at galas: a transcendent rush, like he’s outside of his usual self, floating and ethereal. As he skates to the longing melody, it’s like he can hear, just out of reach, the answer to his question— _what am I supposed to do, to bring time back to normal?_ His heart swells, fills with understanding, something he can’t put into words but which works itself out with every scratch of his blades. Part of him knows what he needs to do. He just has to pin it down, set about doing it.

But once he gets off the ice, it’s gone. He has no idea what he was thinking. It was probably just a trick of the music. He shakes his head, letting the last traces of the feeling fade away, and gets in line for the finale.

 

****

For once, it seems, time is kind to Yuzu. He gets to go to World Team Trophy, where he’s finally well enough to skate an almost-clean Phantom. It’s both satisfying and frustrating—the sweetness of putting out a good performance, the bitterness that it’s a few weeks late. He goofs around with Team Japan, and wears a dozen props in the kiss and cry, and skates Parisienne Walkways for an exhibition so the people who supported him in Sochi have a chance to see it live.

And then it’s the offseason, something Yuzu didn’t think he would get to experience. He’s in the cast of Fantasy on Ice, so he gets to spend the first half of his summer on tour, doing wild choreography for enthusiastic audiences and hanging out with so many of his favorite people. He’s still a little overwhelmed at the thought of being in the same shows as Plushenko and Johnny—he can barely bring himself to call Plushenko by his first name. There are other, less scary senpais there too, like Taka and Nobu, and Yuzu relaxes into the feeling of being a little brother again, teased and petted and paid attention to. It’s tiring sometimes, living in a timeline where he’s older than his consciousness. 

Javi’s on the tour, too. After spending so much time in Japan, ignoring Javi’s texts for hours before replying, and then sobbing all over him like a baby at Worlds, Yuzu hopes they can have a more normal friendship this summer. He wants to give something back to Javi for once, in return for all Javi gives to him. And since he doesn’t have to focus as hard in the summer, it’s the perfect time to do it. When the season starts up again, he’ll have to deal with the fact that Javi is World Champion now, and figure out a plan to beat him next year, but Yuzu doesn’t want to think about that right now. Summer shows are for friendships, not rivalries.

Yuzu pays extra attention to Javi, standing near him when they’re running group choreography and saving him a seat on the bus. He even eats breakfast with the cast sometimes instead of staying in his room, a choice that causes heads to turn the first time he makes an appearance.

The best thing about Javi is that any attention you give him is returned tenfold. Javi wormed his way into Yuzu’s life through the smallest of openings. As soon as he figures out that Yuzu wants to spend time with him, they’re suddenly closer than ever. And Javi’s attention is warm, inviting, joyful, like the sun outside your window when you’re stuck inside studying. Yuzu can’t help but be drawn to it.

Javi invites Yuzu to watch a movie in his hotel room, something in Spanish with English subtitles that makes Yuzu’s head spin and, eventually, sends him to sleep. He wakes up drooling on Javi’s shoulder and when he tries to apologize, Javi just laughs. 

During their week in Chiba, they go out walking together, exploring the streets and parks. Javi points at every single sign and pretends he won’t walk further unless Yuzu translates, until neither of them can keep a straight face and they both burst out laughing.

It’s more of the same during choreography and practice, the two of them teasing and messing around, Javi tickling Yuzu’s waist until he squeaks with laughter. Yuzu’s having fun with everyone, but he’s having the most fun with Javi. It’s the kind of closeness they can never have during the season, when Yuzu has to focus on winning, and it’s nice to take a break and just be friends, for once.

Yuzu is stretching backstage after practice one day in Shizuoka, pressing his forehead into his foam mat and breathing deeply. When he raises his head up, Javi’s standing there in front of him.

“Hello,” Yuzu says. “You watch me stretch?”

Javi laughs, scratching the back of his neck. “No, I was walking past and I just wanted to say hi.”

“Hi,” Yuzu says, sticking out his tongue.

Javi sticks out his tongue in return, rolling his eyes and playing it up. Yuzu laughs.

“Do you want to get lunch?” Javi asks.

Yuzu shakes his head sadly. “Sorry, I need nap. We stay up too late after show last night.”

Javi sighs. “I just wanted to see you before the show break.” The tour takes a break briefly, a couple weeks for the skaters to do other things, before reconvening in Kanazawa at the end of June. Yuzu’s skating in another show next week, and then going home to Sendai for a little visit, so he won’t see Javi again until then. But he hadn’t thought it was that big of a deal. It’s just three weeks.

“Sorry,” Yuzu says again, lamely.

“Will I see you at all before we leave?”

Yuzu’s still not sure what the big deal is. He decides to humor Javi. “Tonight, after we finish, I find you and give you hug. I promise.”

Javi beams. “Okay.” He stretches his arms above his head, yawning. “Guess I better nap too. I’ll see you.”

“Bye,” Yuzu says. He rolls his shoulders a few more times, then gets up off the mat and starts to pack up his stuff. As he’s rolling up his mat, he hears footsteps.

“Oh, hey Yuzu,” Miki calls. He turns around to face her, standing up awkwardly.

“Hi,” Yuzu says. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” Miki says absently. “I was looking for you.”

“Everyone’s looking for me today,” Yuzu laughs. “Javi was just here. I should set up office hours or something.”

“Actually, I wanted to ask you something about Javi.”

Yuzu straightens up. Miki’s brow is furrowed, and she’s biting the corner of her lip. She sounds much more serious than Yuzu was expecting. “What about Javi?”

“I was thinking about asking him out—“

“That’s great!” Yuzu jumps in. Miki is funny and cool and confident, and no one in Japan has worse luck with men than she does, which is so damn unfair. One very illuminating afternoon a few years ago, Yuzu sat behind Nobu and Kanako on the bus while they were gossiping, and now whenever he sees Morozov at competitions, Yuzu tries to put curses on him with his mind. Javi is exactly the kind of guy Miki deserves to date instead.

Miki looks puzzled. “Really?”

“Javi is a really good guy,” Yuzu assures her. “I don’t know anything bad about him.”

“That’s not what—“ Miki purses her lips. “I worried maybe he was...dating someone and hadn't told anyone. Or he had a crush on someone...” She trails off abruptly, like she had more to say and decided against it.

“I don’t think so.” Yuzu considers. “I mean, I don’t really know. We don’t talk about that stuff.”

“It never comes up?”

“I mean, if he’s dating someone, I see her pictures on his phone sometimes. But we’ve never talked about girls. It's not like I would have any dating stories for him, it'd be a pretty one-sided conversation.”

“So I guess you don’t have any secret crushes you want to tell me, then,” Miki says, in her older-sister voice.

Yuzu shakes his head. “I don’t have time for crushes.” It’s always been true—Yuzu doesn’t have many hours in the day when he’s not skating, studying or sleeping—but it’s especially true now, with the timeskipping. He’s too busy figuring out what he needs to change in his life. There’s no way he could fit a crush in, on top of all that.

“I meet nice girls sometimes, other skaters,” Miki says. “I mean, everyone thinks you’re good-looking—“

“Shut _up!_ ”

“—so I bet I could set you up, if you wanted.”

Yuzu has to nip this in the bud. Saya used to tease him the same way, before he cleared things up, and he can tell Miki will keep ribbing him in that sisterly manner unless he does the same. At least he trusts Miki like she was his actual sister, so he can just be direct. “Even if I did have time—it wouldn’t be a girl that I wanted to go out with. So.”

“Oh, sorry for assuming,” Miki says quickly. “That was shitty of me. Just because you said _girls_ —”

Yuzu shakes his head. “It’s fine. Just, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” Miki mimes locking her lips and throwing away the key.

“Anyway, I really don’t want to date anyone right now,” Yuzu says. “There’s enough time for that after I retire.”

“Yuzuru Hanyu, married to the ice,” Miki singsongs.

Yuzu sticks his tongue out at her.

“Guess I’ll have to matchmake for Shoma instead,” Miki says.

“He’ll kill you in your sleep,” Yuzu says, and they both burst out laughing.

“Thanks for the encouragement about Javi,” Miki says, after a little while.

“You’re welcome. Sorry I couldn’t help you more,” Yuzu says. “But I do think you should go for it.”

“I will,” Miki says. She smiles at him, a little strangely, and reaches over to ruffle his hair. Yuzu lets her.

After the show that night, Yuzu weaves his way through everyone laughing and packing up their costumes and finds Javi, zipping up a garment bag. His back is to Yuzu, so Yuzu sneaks up and throws his arms around him. Javi squeaks in surprise, then turns his head to see who it is. His smile blooms big and bright.

“I should have known it was you,” Javi says.

“I keep my promise,” Yuzu says. “This is your hug for goodbye.”

Javi squirms out of Yuzu’s embrace, but he puts his arms back around Yuzu as soon as he’s facing forward, squeezing him tightly. After a minute, he lets go.

“See you in a few weeks,” Javi says, with that glittering smile.

“Bye bye,” Yuzu says. As he walks back to the corner where he left his stuff, he feels a tiny ripple of sadness. He grimaces, trying to let it go. Javi’s rubbing off on him.

****  
The three weeks passes in a flash, just as Yuzu knew it would. He’s stopped being amazed that he’s still here, living day after day, and started getting more used to it. The other show is fun, and being home is the oasis of relief that it always is. And then it’s back to Fantasy on Ice shenanigans, the loud glittery chaos that Yuzu loves.

He’s obsessively curious about whether Javi and Miki have gone out yet, and how it went, but he tries to restrain himself. Maybe they’ll tell everyone when it gets a little more serious. But after another weekend of shows where Miki and Javi don’t seem to talk to each other any more than they ever have, Yuzu can’t help himself. He finds Miki taking off her makeup in front of a mirror, meticulously rubbing at her face. The others in the room are talking and laughing amongst themselves, creating enough noise that Yuzu can just ask the question.

“Hey, how did it go with Javi?”

Miki tosses the wipe into the trash. “He said he wasn’t interested.”

“Really?” Yuzu splutters. “Not interested in _you?_ ”

Miki laughs. “You’re a sweetheart, Yuzu.“

Yuzu scrunches up his face. “Did he say it in a mean way? I can hit him for you if you need.”

“No, he was very nice about it. He’s such a gentleman, you were right. He just told me that he was very flattered, but he thinks he has feelings for someone else, and he needs to figure out if anything will happen there before he can go out with anyone else.”

“Oh, huh. Well, I’m glad he wasn’t a jerk about it.”

Yuzu wonders who the other girl is. Someone else on the tour? Or maybe one of the friends Javi has back in Toronto, the ones he goes out for drinks with on weekends. He shrugs. If Javi’s successful, Yuzu will find out soon enough. And he probably will be—Javi’s always got a crowd of admirers.

The last days of the tour are bittersweet. Yuzu won’t see any of these people for a very long time, except for Javi; he’s got another couple weeks in Japan to finish up media stuff, but after that, it’ll be ages before he’s back. He could never regret the choice to go to the Cricket Club—there’s no way he could have won the gold medal without it. But sometimes, he wishes things could be different, that he didn’t have to choose between the place he loves the most and the sport he loves even more than that. He holds onto it while he can, cheering and yelling and jumping gleefully during the closing number.

This time, Javi finds him for a hug, as soon as they get backstage. Yuzu yelps when Javi picks him straight up, swinging his legs back so he doesn’t kick Javi in the shins.

“Good show,” Javi says, as soon as he puts Yuzu down. “When are you back at Cricket?”

“Two weeks,” Yuzu says. “Time to get serious for next season.”

“You’re too serious.” Javi shakes Yuzu back and forth playfully. “You need to take a vacation.”

“I already take,” Yuzu says. “Now is time for working.”

“Fine.” Javi pouts. “I’ll be back then too. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you,” Yuzu says, squeezing Javi one last time and walking to the dressing room.

The end-of-show feeling hits him as he’s taking off his costume, and a few slow tears trickle down his face. Then he wipes his eyes and takes a deep breath, putting it behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shoutout to sophiahelix on this chapter in particular, for using her extensive knowledge about the 2015 Fantasy on Ice tour to help me with accurate city and place names.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yuzu gets a kick in the pants, takes good notes, and makes some history.

“One more time,” Shae-Lynn says. “Really sweep your legs backward, like you’re walking through tall grass.” She demonstrates, moving her knees back once, twice.

Yuzu nods and tries it again.

“Yes, _yes,_ that’s it!”

Yuzu takes the choreography through, gliding into a spread eagle and waving his arms, until he comes to the part where there’s going to be a jump and slowly trails off.

“That was good.” Shae-Lynn is beaming. “I can tell you’re really feeling it. It’s coming right from here.” She taps over her heart.

“Yeah,” Yuzu says. He’s sweaty and out of breath, but the more he does this program the better he feels about it. He’d been nervous when he sent Shae-Lynn the music—did she think it was too risky, doing a Japanese program? What if she didn’t understand why this was so important? But she’d been almost as eager as he was, watching the movie and immersing herself in the storyline. He’s never been this excited to show off a program before.

“That’s it for today, I think,” Shae-Lynn says, moving over to unplug her phone from the speakers. “Good work. Try it out with the jumps, run through it this week, and then I’ll see you at the end of the week for touch-ups.”

Yuzu nods, gliding around to cool himself down. After a couple minutes of stroking, he comes to a stop in front of the rink door and hops out. The caress he gives the ice is playful, more like a hearty pat on the back.

This is his favorite part of the offseason, when new programs are being developed and layouts are coming together. Everything feels fresh and exciting, the way the first day of school felt as a kid. He’s reusing his short program from last season, because last season was enough of a mess that it’s basically still a new program, but Jeff tweaked some of the steps, and he might add a second quad.

The work feels clean and pure, not yet encumbered by regret or nerves. Just him, the ice, and the music, the way it is in his dreams. He goes to sleep at night quickly, his body pleasantly exhausted, and when he wakes up it’s the next day. It’s been seven months since he was catapulted from Sochi to the hospital, and he’s almost starting to forget this timeskipping ever happened. Maybe he solved it somehow, without meaning to, and now his future self will leave him alone.

Javi comes back from Spain with a deep tan and a short haircut. For a full week, he calls Yuzu “Yuthu,” his accent strengthened from his time away. Javi slides back into his work gradually, holding onto his vacation as long as he can, and it makes everyone else relax too. Javi’s right, it’s still early, no rush. Even after the time away, there’s still that easy warmth between Javi and Yuzu, and Yuzu lets things stay friendly, like they’re back on tour. The competitiveness can wait.

August arrives, and so does the Japanese media, snaking camera cords all throughout the Cricket Club and snapping pictures of Yuzu as he walks through the parking lot. Yuzu flashes a peace sign, wrinkles his nose at a photographer he recognizes. The shutters sound like applause, clicking furiously.

This is his compromise with the teeming, ravenous press of his home country. If they had their way, they’d be at the door every day, reporting his popped jumps and the contents of his bento lunches to thousands of people all over Japan, plus the international fans online. Yuzu’s used to it by now—there were cameras in Ice Rink Sendai from the time he was about ten onwards—but it’s grown to an almost impossible magnitude, and somehow it keeps growing. He can’t work with so many people breathing down his neck. But he has to give them something. He’s afraid if he didn’t, they’d batter down the doors of the Cricket Club and storm the ice.

Luckily, one of the perks of being someone whose lunchbox is of international interest is that you can just tell people exactly when and where to speak to you, and they have to do it. You can make hundreds of sports journalists fly halfway around the world to spend three days getting interviews, b-roll footage and photographs. You can dismiss them all when the three days are over and refuse to speak to them again for another four months, if you want. And Yuzu does, usually. He breaks his silence at competitions and for his sponsors. Everything else gets a polite, firm “no” from his manager. Yuzu’s manager is extremely good at saying “no.”

The media days are long. Yuzu revels in the attention, joking with the journalists and hamming it up for the cameras, but by the end of the first day he wants to curl up in a ball and sleep for a week. His mom doesn’t watch the practices during media days—Yuzu uses his power to keep his family out of the spotlight, but he doesn’t trust that the media will leave her alone if she’s right there. So she cooks all day instead, foods for energy and extra nourishment. He can’t resist bragging about her delicious meals when he gets the inevitable question about what he’s eating.

The other perk of media days is that Kikuchi comes to town too. He’s in and out, spending most of his time in Japan when he’s not at a competition with Yuzu, but he likes to come to the Cricket Club at the beginning of the season to help Yuzu start off well. The trainers and other staff at the Club are first-class, of course, and there are even a few they found for Yuzu who speak Japanese. But it’s not the same as Kikuchi, who remembers every bump and bruise Yuzu’s ever had since he was eight years old. The media can’t talk to Kikuchi either, but it’s not because he wants to be left alone—it’s because he knows too much. 

After the last day of media, he’s got an appointment with Kikuchi for a massage. He’s been looking forward to it all day, after the hours of skating and interviews. At the end of the day, he rushes into the exam room, flopping down onto the massage table and breathing a deep sigh of relief.

“It’s good to see you, too,” Kikuchi laughs. He presses on Yuzu’s back, first lightly and then more firmly. Yuzu lets out a long, slow breath, riding the wave of pain from tension releasing. Neither one of them says anything for a long time.

“How is your search coming along?” Kikuchi asks, eventually.

“What search?” 

“For the answer about your timeskipping. Do you have any more theories on why?”

“I—I haven’t really thought about it in a while,” Yuzu answers honestly. “I mean, I’m still here. I haven’t skipped since I had the surgery. So maybe it worked itself out on its own.”

There’s a pause, while Kikuchi digs the heel of his hand into Yuzu’s shoulder, during which Yuzu feels like he should have said something else.

“I don’t think it works like that,” Kikuchi says skeptically.

“I mean—“ Yuzu tries to justify himself. “I learn things all the time. Maybe something I’ve learned already is what I was supposed to learn all along.”

“Have you read anything about other timeskips?” Kikuchi asks. “There’s a lot of information online. I know you love to do research.”

“Yeah, I did some reading last...I mean, in 2013. After the first time it happened.”

“And was anything you read about someone who just drifted through life and eventually found themselves in a linear timeline?” Kikuchi’s tone is sharp.

“No,” Yuzu sighs, reluctantly. Every story he read, every piece of scientific literature, could all point to a moment when they knew their timeskipping ended. Not everyone knew immediately, but there was always something to point to: a big decision, a new revelation.

“I’m not sure you understand how serious this is,” Kikuchi says. 

Yuzu tries not to groan. He doesn’t want a lecture about this. “Yeah, I know. I have to be a better person, or whatever. I know that.”

“It’s not just that,” Kikuchi says. “When you learn what you’re meant to learn, the timeline stabilizes.”

“And that’s important because…”

“Because it means that your future self is erased. It’ll be like he never existed. The only reality will be the one you cause by your choices in this timeline.” 

Yuzu swallows hard. On some level, he knew all this, but hearing Kikuchi lay it out so bluntly puts it into stark relief. 

“Your future self sent you forward for a reason,” Kikuchi says. “An important enough reason that he’s willing to remove himself from time altogether. You’re getting a second chance that almost no one gets. You owe it to your future self—to all your selves—to take this seriously.”

“Yeah,” Yuzu mutters. He feels a split second of resentment towards his future self, for putting so much pressure on him. But it’s not really a question of pressure, he realizes. His future self must feel like he has no other choice. 

“I know it must be difficult,” Kikuchi says sympathetically. “But you’re smart, and you’re always thinking. I have confidence you can figure this out.” He gives Yuzu’s shoulders a squeeze. “All right, you’re done. Tell your mother hello from me.”

On the subway home, Yuzu stares out the window, headphones in but no music on. He feels like he’s woken up from a long, pleasant dream, and now he has to get out of bed. He knows Kikuchi’s right—he should have been trying harder to figure out what he needs to learn, instead of just drifting through his summer hoping he’ll stay in the same timeline. Deep down, he’s known the whole time that he couldn’t have fixed the problem just by living his life as usual.

He’s been telling himself that the reason he hasn’t skipped again is because he’s learned what he needs to learn. But now that he thinks about it, it’s probably the other way around. His future self is waiting for him to do something. He’s inadvertently trapped himself in a limbo.

As the train rattles forward, Yuzu feels a sudden rush of determination. He’s been slacking, but vacation is over, and now he has to get back to work. Starting tomorrow, he’ll throw himself into everything he has to do, with his whole heart. He knows he can solve it if he tries.

****  
Yuzu does what he should have done long ago to help figure things out. He starts a new notebook about it. The faint rush of uncapping the pen and writing a title on the cover (“Yuzuru Hanyu, The Final Time Traveler”) gives him a sense of accomplishment, like he’s close to solving the mystery already.

Music blasting, one leg curled under him as he sits at his desk chair, he writes down everything that’s happened so far. The two skips, the research he’s done, what he did right before and after. He sets it down plainly, not telling it like a story but simply recording the facts, the way he does when he reviews his competitive performances.

Writing it all out makes it more real than it’s ever been. He realizes how much he’s been trying to avoid thinking about the skipping, hoping that it would somehow fix itself. Kikuchi was right—he needs to stop living in denial.

Another emotion rises to the surface as he writes: anger. He’s been pissed at his future self, who wants to change the past but apparently not the injuries at Worlds 2013 or the shaky free skate at Sochi or the collision in China. What kind of future is this guy living in, that there’s something in his past that’s even worse that those awful moments? 

In any case, he needs to try and figure this out. He’s not going to let the Yuzu of the future down. He turns to a fresh page and starts a list:

THINGS COMMON TO BOTH SKIPS

· Winning medals  
· Going to bed early  
· Hugging Mama

Yuzu stops writing and frowns. This looks like a dead end. There’s no way his future self wants him to ignore his mom, stay up late and give up on his podium dreams. He’s got to think of other things.

· Getting unfocused due to wins  
· Feeling cocky

This seems more promising. He does have a tendency to get too loose when he thinks he’s going to do well—it’s what messed him up at the Olympics. And he’s been more arrogant that he’s deserved to be, looking down on fellow competitors and assuming he’s above them. He tries so hard not to be, but sometimes he slips up.

Yuzu looks long and hard at the list, trying to think of anything else he’s noticed. Nothing comes to mind. This is a good start, anyhow. He’ll go back to the club on Monday with a list of jumps he wants to work on with Ghislain, and he won’t complain about that one really slow stroking exercise, and he’ll go from there. He’s got 6 weeks until the Autumn Classic. That’s plenty of time.

He gets off to a pretty promising start, if he does say so himself. He keeps his head down, puts his work in, and shuts out as many distractions as he can. He still has to do homework, and he’s not totally silent at the rink or anything, but he’s focusing his energy on two things: giving his utmost heart to the work without complaining, and keeping his eyes open for other possible lessons. It’s not too different from what he normally does, but it makes him feel eager, sharp. Like something new is just around the corner.

There’s just one problem: Javi. The man for whom “early” means “on time” and “on time” means “five minutes late.” The messy goofball who loves to make practices a game. The incorrigibly kind friend who seems to believe he can hang out with Yuzu and also win his Grand Prix events. Javi is the opposite of everything Yuzu’s trying to do.

Yuzu excuses it at first, Javi’s jokes and lunch invitations and attempted tickle fights. They had a nice summer on the tour, where messing around like this is standard, and he can’t blame Javi for wanting to keep that breezy offseason feeling going. It’s easier to train when you’re loose, after all. But when the end of September hits, Yuzu has to put a stop to it. He wants to keep his entire mind on his work, not have his attention divided.

He feels like an asshole, walking past Javi to eat alone, gliding out of reach when the jokes go on for too long. Javi’s face is so open and earnest that disappointment shows all over it. The first time it happens, Yuzu’s heart twists, like he’s done something worse than decide to study over lunch. But he can’t give up his plan just because playing with Javi is fun and Javi makes a spectacular pouting face. The season is at stake here, and so is his continued presence in this linear timeline. So he keeps to himself and works hard, just like he promised himself.

Javi’s a nice enough person to not bother him about it, which Yuzu appreciates, but which also makes him feel worse. What kind of life doesn’t have room for a nice, considerate friend like Javi? But Yuzu’s not the kind of person that can make space in his life for more than one thing. If he chills out, accepts invitations, messes around during practice, he knows what will happen. He’ll skate poorly, he won’t win. And the thought of that makes his stomach clench and his chest go icy with fear. He’d be letting down all his selves, past, present, and future. This is just what he has to do. It’s fine. Friendship can wait.

One evening in mid-November, Yuzu is coming out of the locker room, freshly showered after a long day of practice. He’s been working extra hard lately, making changes to his programs and drilling his jumps. He never wants the mess that was Skate Canada to happen again. As he walks through the lounge, he spots Javi, zipping up his backpack on one of the tables.

“Goodnight,” Yuzu says automatically as he heads past.

Javi looks up. “Hey, wait, Yuzu. I actually wanted to ask you something.”

Yuzu stops, hovering awkwardly near the table. “Okay. What you need to ask?”

Yuzu can see Javi swallow hard, and he’s suddenly nervous.

“Are you mad at me?” Javi blurts out.

“No! No way. Why you think I be mad at you?”

“You don’t really talk to me anymore. And it feels like you’re avoiding me during practices. Is it because I already have a gold medal this year?”

Yuzu is a little disappointed he hasn't won a Grand Prix yet this season, but he'd never be mad at Javi for winning a competition Yuzu wasn't in. He sighs. He has a feeling the real reason will be difficult to explain. “I’m not avoid you. I just—now is time to work. I can’t focus my work if I playing.”

“Is hanging out with me really that distracting?” Javi asks.

“I do so bad at Skate Canada—“

“You got silver,” Javi interrupts.

“Like I say, I do bad,” Yuzu continues. “I have to practice really hard so I’m not doing bad at NHK. I don’t have time for other thing.”

“So what, you can’t talk to me at all?” Javi’s voice is light, but his eyes are serious. Yuzu feels like the worst person who’s ever lived.

“I make you deal,” he says, suddenly getting an idea.

“Oh?” Javi looks intrigued.

“If we make Grand Prix Final—when it finish we hang out in Barcelona.” It makes sense to Yuzu. The Grand Prix Final is the midpoint of the season—after that, it’s just Nationals and Worlds. At that point, a little break won’t hurt him. He’ll have enough time to get his concentration back. Besides, Barcelona is in Javi’s home country. It’d just be mean to ignore Javi there.

“Okay,” Javi says, smiling. “Sounds good to me.” 

Yuzu holds out his hand to shake. Javi takes it, laughing. “You drive a hard bargain, Yuzu.” His grip on Yuzu’s hand is firm, and he gives it a little extra squeeze before he lets go.

After their conversation in the lounge, Yuzu finds himself able to concentrate more easily. Ignoring Javi had been weighing on him without him really noticing, it seems. He spends the week and a half before he leaves for the NHK Trophy drilling his quads, perfecting his transitions, letting the music soak into him deeply. When he boards the plane for Japan, he actually feels _ready._ Sure, he has a few aches and pains—a big bruise on his right thigh, a nagging soreness on the top of his left foot—but he knows they won’t stop him.

Yuzu arrives in Nagoya buzzing with the good kind of nerves, the ones that are mostly anticipation. He’s up against some talented guys, like Taka and that new senior with the incredible jumps, Boyang. But his confidence is high. He can feel it in his bones: everything he’s done so far this season is about to pay off.

He stands at the center of the rink with his eyes closed, breathing. The notes of the piano climb like stairs. Ten seconds, and then he rolls his head back and glides into the program. When he opens his eyes after those endless beats of waiting, he always feels centered, like he’s been dreaming about skating and he just woke up. The beginning of this program flows like those dreams, smooth and unhurried.

He stays at the center of that calm, grounded in the music and his breath, even as his steps build. He launches into the combination with nothing but certainty, landing it without batting an eye.

The spins in this program are fun, his hands moving to accent the music. Short programs go by so fast when you’re doing them well, each movement fitting naturally and leading to the next one. Like falling water, like each note of the music. When he lands the triple axel, he flings his arms up in triumph.

More spins, getting faster as the piano speeds up, and then the step sequence. He abandons himself to the flurry of steps, arms flying. The audience is clapping along, even though the music isn’t really the clapping kind, and it buoys him up as he rushes headlong towards the ending. On the last note, he opens his hands with fierce defiance. _Look what I did._

“That was beautiful,” Brian tells him. They wait in the kiss and cry with eager anticipation. This is definitely going to set a new record, Yuzu realizes. His Olympic short program only had one quad, and he skated this one clean with two. 

He’s right. His score surpasses his old record by a full five points. The arena yelps, and Brian looks gleeful and disbelieving, and Yuzu smiles so big his face hurts. He feels vindicated, triumphant. It might have taken him a while, but he finally broke another world record.

That’s nothing compared to how he feels the next night, though. He takes the ice after Boyang’s free skate with lightning pulsing through his veins. Boyang had been a little wobbly, but he’d landed a beautiful quad lutz, a high soaring jump that made Yuzu feel like a little kid again. He wants to be that powerful, to capture attention in a few fast rotations. He may not have a quad lutz up his sleeve ( _yet,_ an eager part of his brain whispers), but he can still show something the audience will never forget. Other things nag at his attention—the ache in his left foot, residual tiredness from skating the day before—but he pushes them aside. They can wait. He has a job to do.

From the moment Yuzu’s own amplified breath fills the arena with a loud _whoosh,_ it’s like he’s not even skating at all. His body is moving, full of strength and power, but his mind is absorbed, transported. He feels immersed in the story of Seimei, as if the movements of his arms and legs are casting magic spells.

It’s like a dream, like the perfect skates he sees in his imagination. The first two quads, thunderous like Boyang’s lutz. The flip, an old enemy defeated with grace and beauty. The Biellmann spin, showing power through softness. The step sequence, sharp and cutting, mowing down evil spirits with each foot placed in front of the other. When he glides to a spread-eagled stop at the center of the ice, he can feel the audience take a breath with him, almost audible over the quiet flute.

He fights the second half of the program with double strength, the kind that comes from gentle confidence and the knowledge of your own power. His kind of strength. The jumps at the start of the second half are light and airy, as if the wind from the flute is propelling him. Today, hard things are coming easy.

The music builds and Yuzu can feel every beat of the drum, every heartbeat in the arena, keeping time with his own. The three-jump combo, accelerating like the tempo. The loop and, oh, just one more—the lutz. He pumps his fists with glee and launches into a spin that feels faster than any he’s ever done. The audience roars.

Yuzu flings out his arms at the beat of the drum. He pictures darkness cowering, shrinking away from the swirling beams of his light. As he dances and twirls through the choreo sequence, the evil is shoved away, relegated to a tiny insignificant corner. When he spreads his arms in the Ina Bauer right on the cymbal crash, the screams of the crowd are like a second crescendo. 

The program hurtles towards the end, the percussion low and the flute high and piercing. Yuzu stomps his foot on the last drumbeat, opening his arms wide, and it’s over.

He comes back to himself in a joyful rush of adrenaline. He skated it clean, as close to perfect as he could possibly get. He made the audience hang on his every move, just like he planned. For once in his life, he’s satisfied. He skates off with his finger raised in the air, aimed at the Olympic rings. _Number one. Champion._

Brian is laughing in disbelief when Yuzu collapses onto him. “I have no words,” he says.

“Good boy?” Yuzu teases.

Brian lets out a surprised chuckle. Maybe he thinks Yuzu’s serious. “Yeah—amazing.”

“Amazing boy,” Yuzu says, as he bends over to thank the ice.

Sitting in the kiss and cry feels like waiting for a wave to break. Yuzu leans forward on the bench, gripping Pooh-san between his knees.

“Get ready,” Brian says.

“I’m ready,” Yuzu says, eyes fixed on the screen at their feet.

“I’m not ready,” Brian laughs.

The scores flash onto the screen and Yuzu stops breathing for a moment. He knew he was skating well, but he hadn’t stopped to think just what that would look like. He buries his face in his hands. Brian can’t seem to believe it either, clapping Yuzu on the back and leaning his face into Yuzu’s shoulder.

Yuzu always wanted to be the one to break two hundred and three hundred for the first time—and after he broke one hundred at the Olympics, he figured he had a pretty good chance. But he’d never imagined anything like this, smashing the records with numbers so big he can hardly believe they’re skating scores. Javi’s reaction to winning Worlds flashes into his mind suddenly, the bleating noises in the kiss and cry, and Yuzu understands now. That’s how it feels when you do something you never let yourself believe would be possible.

Yuzu doesn’t know what to do with his hands, isn’t quite sure what expression his face is making. It’s too much to take in at once. He stands up and bows, lifting his arms to thank the audience and soaking in their applause. He explains his revelation to Brian and they imitate Javi’s noises together. Then he’s being ushered away, swiftly, while they prepare for the medal ceremony.

Everything after that is a blur. He stands next to Boyang at the medal ceremony and tells him how much he loves his jumps. They put a medal on him that he barely feels and hand him a bouquet of irises that he gives to Nobu, acting on some urgent impulse to pass a little of this joy along. The technical controller tells him he was majestic. 

During the press conference, Yuzu can’t stop talking, words bubbling out of him endlessly in response to simple questions. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he should probably shut up, but it doesn’t really register until one of his questions is being translated into English. It takes ages to do, and Yuzu can’t even pay attention to it after the first 30 seconds, whispering to Taka instead about gala practice tomorrow.

“That’s all the time we have for today,” the moderator says once the translation is finished, and Yuzu slumps his head down onto the table in embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry!” he murmurs into his microphone. He rushes to apologize to the translator and the moderator, who laugh it off.

Outside the press room, his mom is waiting for him. Joy is shining in her face, the polar opposite of her expression the day he woke up from surgery. Yuzu feels a rush of joy in response. He knows his mom always loves to watch him skate, but making her this happy—that’s like a second gold medal. He hugs her tightly.

“Oh, Yuzu, that was so beautiful,” she says. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Yuzu says, his throat a little hoarse suddenly. “I’ll keep making you proud, I promise.”

His mom straightens up and gives him a puzzled look. “You know I’m proud of you no matter what, right?”

Yuzu rolls his eyes. It makes him feel like a little kid when she does this. He knows he doesn’t have to win gold medals and break records for his mom to love him. It’s just—she gives him so much, has sacrificed so many things for him. He feels like that deserves more than merely adequate skating in response.

“Right?” his mom says again, rubbing his arm.

“I know, Mama.”

His mom smiles, the same broad grin he sees when he looks in the mirror. “Good.”

They head back to the hotel together, alone in the van with the chauffeur.

“What do you want for dinner?” his mom asks. “Tonkatsu?” Her voice is teasing, and they both laugh. After Yuzu won Junior Nationals, the first thing he said to his family was “Can we eat tonkatsu for dinner?”, and they haven’t let him live it down since. In his defense, winning Junior Nationals at the age of 13 was overwhelming, and by the time he got done with all the press all he could think about was how hungry he was. Winning competitions is a lot different for him now. But since she’s mentioned it, tonkatsu does sound pretty good.

“Let’s do it,” Yuzu says, and she grins. “You get us takeout. I don’t want to deal with fans right now.”

“Of course,” his mom says.

While she ventures out to a restaurant near the hotel, Yuzu waits in his room, suddenly exhausted now that he’s on his own. His left foot is throbbing more than aching now, and he limps to the ice machine to fill a plastic bag. When he stretches his legs out on the bed, feet buried in the ice, it’s a lot better, and he sighs in relief. It’s probably something he needs to get looked at, but just the thought of bringing it up to Kikuchi-san irritates him. He doesn’t want to be fussed over and handled with kid gloves. Hopefully if he ices it every day, and eases up on practicing toe loops, it’ll go away on its own, or at least fade enough that he can get through the Grand Prix Final. Maybe he should watch some film so he can—

He stops himself as he’s leaning over to grab his backpack. What, exactly, is he going to study about these performances? He’s used to having a laundry list of things to work on as soon as a competition finishes. But he’s never skated this well this early in the season. He’s never skated this well, period. How is he going to top this?

Yuzu sees the rest of his season stretching out before him like an impossibly high wall. He loves walls, usually, thriving on unachievable challenges. But the memory of those huge numbers lingers. What will it take to conquer himself this time?

He knows the answer, even though he doesn’t want to admit it. He’s just going to have to keep breaking the records. Anything else is going to be a disappointment. Maybe he’ll study the film after all, figure out what he’ll be able to improve on. He sighs heavily, stretching his arms over his head and flopping back against the headboard. This is so overwhelming to think about right now.

There’s a knock at his door. “Food’s here,” his mom’s voice calls.

Yuzu stands up with a groan and lets her in. The delicious smell of warm pork fills the room as his mom walks in. She sets a brown paper bag down on the desk and starts handing Yuzu takeout containers, still piping hot.

They devour the food in silence, Yuzu perched on the edge of the bed and his mom in the desk chair. It’s delicious—Yuzu’s mom has a good eye for which hole-in-the-wall places will have the best food—and for a while Yuzu isn’t really thinking about anything except enjoying his dinner.

“What do you want to start practicing first?” his mom asks. It’s a standard question for right after a competition. Usually once the sweat has dried, Yuzu’s already thinking about his next competition, his next move. But this time, it just makes him more nervous.

“I don’t know,” Yuzu says, quickly.

His mom looks over at him. “You must be really tired.”

“Yeah,” Yuzu admits. “And—I did so good today. I’m not sure how I can do better.”

“You always think you can do better,” his mom says. “I’m sure you’ll find something.”

Yuzu takes the last bite of his tonkatsu. “Sure,” he says.

“Okay, I’ll let you get ready for bed now,” his mom says. She sweeps up their trash and puts it back in the paper bag. “Sleep well, love.” She leans over and kisses the top of his head.

“See you in the morning,” Yuzu says.

After she leaves, Yuzu takes another shower, to relax his muscles, and changes into his pajamas. He gets into bed, stretching and yawning, and reaches for his phone. He’s not going to check his email this late at night, but maybe Nobu wants to meet up tomorrow or something.

But the first notifications on his phone are from Javi.

_I watched your free skate, AMAZING!!!!!!!!_

_See you at the Grand Prix Final! Can’t wait to hang out hehe_

Yuzu’s heart sinks. The promise he made to Javi seems like it was years ago. Before he broke all the records, he’d envisioned Barcelona as some kind of reprieve. A time when he’d be able to enjoy the competition, do his best, and then have fun with Javi. But now, he can’t just do what he’s always been doing. He has to raise himself to another level, keep advancing and advancing. There’s no way in hell he’s letting himself peak in November. But that means…he has to stay focused, with no distractions. And hanging out with Javi is definitely a distraction.

Yuzu stares at his phone for a long time. Then he types slowly, reluctantly.

_thanks for congratulations! But I think Barcelona too busy for hang out. Sorry :(_

Yuzu sets his phone aside, feeling awful. He can’t even give Javi a new time when they might get to be friends first and competitors second. The rest of his season looks so different now, an uphill climb he never anticipated. But there’s nothing he can do about it. This is just how it has to be. He turns off the lamp on the bedside table and slides under the covers, praying for sleep to come quickly.

****

Yuzu’s head is uncomfortable, and he feels like he’s getting a crick in his neck. This hotel must have terrible pillows, or else he rolled into a weird position in the middle of the night. He opens his eyes to adjust—and sees a cinderblock wall, with a piece of paper taped to it that says “SKATER’S AREA” in English. He sits up abruptly and almost falls forward—he was already sitting, in a metal folding chair. His arms start shaking, his breathing speeding up, even as he tries to keep himself under control. He can barely believe it. After all this work, all the study and diligence and focus—it’s happening again. Somehow, it’s happening again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun dunnnnnnnn
> 
> this chapter owes a lot to interviews with Yuzu and his choreographers about Ballade No. 1 and Seimei. I'm so grateful to have those little windows into the choreographic process - and to fan translators who give us access!
> 
> the tonkatsu detail was inspired by a P&G interview with Yuzu about his experiences at Japan Junior Nationals, translated on the yuzusorbet blog here: https://yuzusorbet.tumblr.com/post/134365582737/yuzu-days-1st-dec-2015-pg-article-yuzuru


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Untimely self-knowledge, shitty free skates, and fireworks (but not the fun kind).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special and extreme thanks to sophiahelix for doing a second beta of the remaining chapters in this story, making suggestions to help fix some things I was struggling with, and encouraging me in the face of weird spurts of self-doubt about this story.

Yuzu looks around frantically, trying to take stock of his surroundings. He sees another skater stretching on the floor, some others further down the hallway jogging in place or jumping rope. A bored-looking man with a walkie-talkie is leaning against a wall. Kikuchi is on the other side of the room, packing warmup gear into Yuzu’s rolling suitcase, and when he sees Yuzu’s eyes are open he stops what he’s doing and comes over. “Are you ready for practice now?”

Yuzu doesn’t see anyone that can speak Japanese, but he whispers just in case. “No, because when I closed my eyes I was in my hotel room after the NHK Trophy, and now I’m here.”

Kikuchi doesn’t say anything, or act surprised, but Yuzu can tell from his eyes that it’s a deliberate non-reaction, that he’s trying to avoid drawing attention to Yuzu.

“Can you catch me up?” Yuzu asks. “Like, where am I, what am I doing, that kind of thing.”

Kikuchi nods slowly. He crouches beside Yuzu and massages his calves while he speaks, a cover for his words. “You’re at the World Championships in Boston. Your last practice before the free skate is in about fifteen minutes. You were in first place after the short.”

“How far in first?” Yuzu asks.

“You almost beat your record,” Kikuchi says. “Another score over a hundred and ten.”

“No, I did beat it,” Yuzu says. “My record’s 106.”

“Not anymore it’s not,” Kikuchi says. “You broke them both again at the Grand Prix Final. It was incredible—you got over 330 total.”

Yuzu sits there for a moment, taking that in. At least his other self skated well, broke the records again. He’s probably— “Am I National Champion?”

“Yes,” Kikuchi says. “It was a little messy but no one else really came that close.”

Yuzu doesn’t feel relieved, somehow. There’s the pressure of being in first, of everything that came before this event. And Kikuchi doesn’t seem that excited—he’s being discreet, of course, but he didn’t sound as happy about the records as Yuzu expected. He’s turning away from Yuzu now, fixing the strap on his boot cover.

“There’s something else you’re not telling me,” Yuzu says.

Kikuchi stops fiddling with the cover. “Do you need to know everything?”

“So, you are hiding something from me,” Yuzu says.

“Only something you’re hiding from almost everyone else,” Kikuchi says. “You might skate better if you’re not thinking about it.”

Yuzu is about done with this cryptic bullshit. What is it that’s so bad that Kikuchi is afraid it’ll mess with his skating? Barcelona flashes into his mind, the text he sent before falling asleep. “Are Javi and I in a fight?”

Kikuchi furrows his brow. “I have no idea. You haven’t said anything to me about Javi. Why would you think so?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Yuzu says. “What’s wrong?”

Kikuchi sighs, a barely audible exhale. “You’d have found out anyway, when you got out on the ice. It wasn’t my best idea, to try and keep it from you.”

Cold dread gnaws at Yuzu’s heart. “Just tell me.”

“One of the ligaments in your left foot is seriously injured,” Kikuchi says, dropping his voice to an even lower whisper.

Yuzu thinks back to the NHK Trophy, the ache that he tried to cover with ice. “I didn’t go see you about it then, did I,” he says, almost to himself.

“Not until it was too late,” Kikuchi says. “We’re just trying to get you through this competition. Then we’ll figure out how we can make it better.”

Yuzu nods blankly.

“Brian knows about it, and a couple other people on your team, but it’s a secret from everyone else. And you skated well yesterday. So just act like everything’s normal, and I think you have a chance.”

“Ok,” Yuzu says automatically. He’s not really sure what else to say. How can he act normally when he’s been catapulted into the future like this? He thought he was doing everything he could to fix the timeline. He’d been working so hard. But he’s still missed something, somehow.

There’s a commotion further down the hallway. “Practice time,” Kikuchi says. “You go ahead, I’ll meet you there with the stuff.”

Yuzu rises stiffly from the folding chair. As soon as he puts his left foot down, he feels a throb of pain. He swallows down his rising panic and keeps walking towards the rink, slowly but surely. This is bad, but he can do this. Surely he can do this.

The rink feels extra crowded, somehow. Everyone is whizzing past him, a sea of colorful jackets, gathering momentum and launching into jumps. Yuzu drills jumps of his own, avoiding the toe loop and focusing on the sal. The longer he’s on the ice, the less he feels the throb in his foot. 

He’s done this before, with many different injuries. Once he gets going, the adrenaline will dull the pain, and repeating the movements will make it seem normal, another competition ache to fight through. He just has to get through thirteen more minutes of skating. The last four minutes of this practice, the six-minute warmup, the free skate. It won’t be so bad.

He grimaces, suddenly frustrated at how often he’s had to do this. The sprained ankle at his very first Worlds, waking up at the next Worlds with another ankle injury and a knee injury on top of that. The aches and pains last year. At least he got skipped past the collision and skating through the urachal remnant infection, but he wasn’t spared the pain of recovering from surgery. How many times is he going to have to grit his teeth, pretend he’s not hurting, and skate like everything’s fine? It’s like he can never get out of this cycle—

Yuzu screeches to a halt beside the boards, reaching out to avoid colliding with them. Every time he’s skipped, he’s pushed through an injury just beforehand. And every time he wakes up, it’s in a future where he’s skated through an injury and made it worse. Forget the selfishness and the arrogance and the not training hard enough—this is the pattern he’s been missing all along.

Yuzu grabs his water bottle and takes a swig, feeling like a fool. This whole time. His future self doesn’t want something elaborate or complicated. He just wants Yuzu to stop making his injuries worse. 

The last minute of practice is a blur. He can’t stop thinking about how he’s always been doing this. The bloody scrapes all over his arms when he first started learning the triple axel, how he’d try to do as much as he could with the blood flowing so his mom wouldn’t have to keep coming over and bandaging him. The time he sprained his ankle at 2 am practicing the quad sal and kept practicing it until the ankle couldn’t hold him anymore. His first days back on the ice after the abdominal surgery, when there was still enough pain to make him nauseous, but he just ate ginger candies instead of taking a break. This is how he’s always been. How is he supposed to change it?

Brian looks at Yuzu curiously as he steps off the ice. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Yuzu snaps. He regrets it immediately, seeing Brian’s gentle face fall. None of this is Brian’s fault.

“You can do this,” Brian says, putting a hand on Yuzu’s shoulder. “Trust yourself.”

It’s what Brian always says—trust yourself, trust your training—but it makes Yuzu go cold. How can he trust himself? His foot is in horrible pain because of a stupid decision he made. He’s been skipped forward in time because of that same decision. At this moment in time, Yuzu has never trusted himself less.

There’s another two hours before he goes back onto the ice. It feels like two years. Yuzu does all his warmups, stretching and listening to music and tossing a ball back and forth with Kikuchi, trying to ignore the cold pit of dread in his stomach. He can’t afford to think more about his revelation now, not when he has to skate so soon. And he can’t think about the injury either, what it might mean for his career. He has to focus.

After endless waiting, it’s finally time for the six-minute warmup. Yuzu circles the rink with grim determination, moving faster and faster. There’s a slushy puddle of melting ice on one side that he steers clear of. It feels like a bad omen. He stumbles on a quad sal, drills it two, three, four times out of spite.

“Ease up,” Brian says as Yuzu circles back to the boards for a tissue. “Save it for the program.” Yuzu nods, not really listening.

Yuzu skates second, so he doesn’t have to wait much longer. He hovers backstage with his earbuds firmly in place while Mikhail skates, only moving out into the arena at the last possible minute. He hears Mikhail’s score, but it doesn’t scare him—it’s about what he expected. It doesn’t change what he has to do.

He takes his place at the center of the rink, two fingers in front of his mouth. He closes his eyes, trying to channel the power of Seimei. But there’s nothing at the center of his heart, no strength coming to him from elsewhere. He’s going to have to fight this all on his own. The noise of his own breath just before the music starts sounds like a gasp, a warning.

It’s off from the very first moment. His arms feel loose, his movements sloppy. He barely manages to stay upright in his first jump. He replaces one of the quad toe loops with a sal to ease the burden on his foot, but it’s still a fight to jump. His body feels heavy and sluggish, slow to respond to his commands. The tiny prick of pain that even the painkillers couldn’t eradicate keeps growing larger and larger as the program goes on. All his jumps, even the ones he lands, are a little off, and he knows he’s not hitting his choreography well either. He’s not Seimei today, not even close.

Yuzu gives it everything he has. Every last ounce of his energy, every bit of his power. It’s not enough. Grasping desperately for some performance points in the choreo sequence, he flings his arms out wildly in the Ina Bauer. But he knows it’s futile. There’s nothing further for him to reach.

The music comes blessedly to an end. Yuzu stamps his foot, wincing. The instant it’s over, he slumps forward, resting his arms on his legs. He wants to cry. So this is what he’s come to—wobbly and injured, uninspired, exhausted. The opposite of everything he aims for.

But he can’t cry, because everyone’s watching him. So he screws up his face, takes a deep breath, and yells “Thank you very much!” as loud as he can. He doesn’t want to leave the ice and face Brian, or sit in the kiss and cry and get his scores. He wants the ice rink to swallow him whole. People are still applauding, which is nice of them.

Brian doesn’t look disappointed, just a little concerned. He hugs Yuzu tightly, like he does every time. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. Yuzu doesn't believe him, but like always, he appreciates it. They settle themselves in the kiss and cry. Yuzu strokes Pooh’s ears over and over again, willing himself to stay calm.

“One hundred and eighty-four point six one,” the announcer calls. Yuzu’s heart sinks. He’s still in first—the short program gave him a good cushion—but the door is wide open. He picks up his jacket and water bottle and trudges to the green room.

Yuzu slumps in an armchair and watches Boyang skate without really registering it. He wishes he could ice his foot, but he doesn’t want to do that while he’s on camera. The throbbing ache is the only thing breaking through the fog of dread and nerves. He grits his teeth, applauds when the camera focuses on him. He’s still in first, for now.

The little TV in the green room switches to a shot of Brian and David at the boards. Javi is next. Yuzu sits up a little straighter, applauding instinctively. Even now, at the center of his worst-case scenario, part of Yuzu is still cheering for Javi. He can’t help it.

Javi takes his position. The jazzy music starts, and Javi flashes a smile at the camera. His first quad is clean and strong, flowing into the choreography. Yuzu swallows hard. Javi’s _on_ today.

Watching the rest of the program is like a hurricane in the center of Yuzu’s chest. Pride and dread, joy and bitterness swirl wildly. Javi skates beautifully, charming the audience with his smooth elegance. It’s like he’s dancing on ice, like the American movies his mom watches with the guy who waltzes and the woman who swoons in his arms. It’s amazing, because Javi’s never skated it quite like this before, and Yuzu thrills to see Javi do so well. It’s horrible, because Javi is going to win gold again, and Yuzu has a fucked up foot and a time travel problem and nothing to show for it. He wishes he could hate Javi, because that would be easier than this, his heart soaring when Javi springs into a beautiful combination and dropping when he lands it cleanly. If this goes on any longer, Yuzu might split in two.

Javi finishes with a triumphant smirk. The audience roars. As soon as he breaks character, Javi puts his head in his hands, overcome. Something in Yuzu’s heart twists painfully. He’d wanted this moment for himself. Regret seeps in, swallowing up the happiness he feels for Javi. Guilt follows on its heels. If he’d skated his best, he wouldn’t have to feel like this. He could be happy for himself and for Javi as well. But he ruined it with his messy performance, and now he has to deal with the consequences.

Brian and David join Javi in the kiss and cry, wrapping their arms around him. For a moment, Yuzu forgets his complicated feelings, seeing the faces of these three kind men on the TV screen. This is still his team, even though they won’t be celebrating him today.

When the scores are announced and Javi takes first place with a free program score just a few points shy of Yuzu’s record, the arena erupts. The camera swings over to Yuzu, and before he really knows what he’s doing, he bows to Javi with his arms extended. A gesture of recognition: _today, you were the best._ The negative emotions are still there, lurking in the corners of his heart, but they can’t erase the truth that Javi deserves this, or the flicker of pride at seeing his training mate do so well.

There are still two skaters left to go, somehow. Javi moves to the green room, acknowledging Yuzu with a nod of the head but then sitting down to watch the TV intently, as if he had anything to worry about. Yuzu is watching too, praying that he stays in second. A fall down to third, or off the podium altogether, would be salt in the wound.

But Shoma is just as messy as he was—Yuzu swallows hard when he sees Shoma cry. The first big competition heartbreak is always the hardest, and Yuzu tries to think of wise, encouraging words he could say to him. The kind of thing a senpai should do. But Yuzu’s own heart is feeling too battered to support someone else. He watches Coach Mihoko stroke Shoma’s back soothingly, glad Shoma has her in his corner.

Patrick wraps things up with another off-kilter performance. There was a time when Yuzu would have felt a little spark of joy, seeing the formerly mighty Patrick finish several places lower than him. But not today. Patrick has just come back from a season off, and he’s struggled all year, a shadow of his former self. What if Yuzu has to take a season off because of his foot? Will he be like this when he returns?

It’s all done, now. The coaches and federation staff come into the green room, a flurry of activity. Brian sits down in the chair near Javi and Yuzu. “Good job,” he tells them both, clapping Javi on the back. Yuzu’s heart aches, a sweet painful throb that’s both happiness and disappointment, and something else he can’t quite identify. He slides out of the chair and drops to his knees in front of Javi, bowing to him again.

Yuzu hears Brian chuckling, warm and low. When he lifts his head, Javi’s expression is soft and pleased, a huge smile lighting up his face. The ache overwhelms Yuzu, as if his heart is expanding past the bounds of his chest. He sits back down and slumps backward, kicking his heels at the floor and whining. Why does it have to be like this? Why can’t he and Javi both win? And why has it been Javi winning so often lately? It’s not fair.

A firm hand pats his thigh. Yuzu opens his eyes. It’s Javi, that softness still in his face. “You work hard, you can get it,” Javi says. “Next year, you’ll see.”

“You say that last year,” Yuzu whines.

Javi chuckles. “One of these days. You’re too good not to.” Someone from the Spanish federation beckons for him, and he stands up to leave, brushing Yuzu’s face lightly as he goes. Yuzu stares after him.

Eventually, Yuzu hauls himself out of his chair, foot twinging as he stands. Whatever adrenaline was left in his system is long gone now, and he’s exhausted. He wants to curl up in bed and sleep for the next decade.

But he can’t, because it’s time for the press conference. The room is packed full of media, rows and rows of intent eyes and flashing cameras. When he sits down, the shutters sound like thousands of cockroaches skittering across a kitchen floor. Yuzu breathes in, breathes out slowly, but it doesn’t do much to stem the panic rising in his chest.

All their questions are about his failure. What happened? How could he fall so far in just one day? What does he think led to the mistakes today? How does he feel? Their voices aren’t cruel, just clinical, as if he’s a scientific specimen they’re studying. When they ask Javi how he feels about his win, a warmth creeps into their questions, and they smile. They pay respects to the champion.

Yuzu grips the arms of the chair, stewing in regret and bitterness. The happiness he felt for Javi has evaporated. Now he’s feeling the loss of gold, the heavy dread of an uphill climb back to the top, made worse by the pain in his foot. He can’t wait until this is over and he can limp to his room, lock the door, and ignore everyone and everything else for the rest of the night.

The press conference finally, finally ends. Yuzu waits until most of the journalists are gone before getting up, careful not to grimace when he sets his foot down. He hurries out of the conference room and into the hallway, waving off his team with a few simple words: he’s tired, he needs rest, he’ll talk to them before the gala tomorrow.

He can’t even get out of the building. When he gets to the little holding room where Team Cricket’s been storing their luggage, Javi’s there, tapping at his phone and leaning against Yuzu’s big gold suitcase. He looks up and flashes a grin when Yuzu enters.

Yuzu doesn’t have time for small talk. “I need stuff, please move.”

Javi moves nonchalantly, standing up straight but not really getting out of the way. “Do you want to go out for some dinner?” he asks.

“Why?” Yuzu stops in his tracks.

Javi laughs. “My family and me, we’re going out to celebrate. Maybe you could come too, we can cheer you up a little bit.” He swipes at Yuzu’s side, like he’s trying to tickle Yuzu.

The pain in Yuzu’s heart overflows. “Ok, but, what if I’m not feel like cheer up?” 

Javi frowns.

“Maybe I’m wanting to be sad because I lose,” Yuzu says. “Family isn’t enough for celebrate?”

“Yes, but—we’re a team. We can celebrate for each other. Don’t you want to come out with us and be happy?” Javi sounds confused, faintly pleading.

Yuzu thinks about all the ways he could respond to this, kind or innocuous or avoidant. But he’s too tired to sugarcoat it, so he settles for the truth. “Not feeling happy for you anymore.”

Javi’s entire face falls, and Yuzu thinks, _good._ Let Javi feel a little bit of what he’s feeling right now.

“When you win, I’m happy for you,” Javi says, like Yuzu’s feelings are up for debate.

“Because you are nice,” Yuzu says. “I’m not so nice like you.”

“No, I guess you’re not,” Javi says slowly.

“Why I have to be happy for you, anyway?” Yuzu says. The words come too easily, a dangerous honesty unfurling from his heart and spilling out of his mouth. “You not sad for me. Not like last year. You give me so many nice hug last year. This year, you just wanting me to get over it.”

Javi glowers, his face twisting in anger. “Oh, so I’m supposed to do both, and you only get to feel your own feelings? Is that how it works?”

“I’m too sad to be happy,” Yuzu says. “You’re happy, can be little sad. Since I am your friend.”

“I’m not sure you are,” Javi says, low and grim.

“What?”

“Maybe you already forgot how you promised to hang out with me at Barcelona and then blew me off with a text message two weeks beforehand,” Javi spits.

“I don’t forget! I just…couldn’t.”

“You never can.” Javi’s voice is too loud, and Yuzu flinches, worried someone’s about to poke their head in to see what’s going on. Javi brings it back down to a fierce whisper. “You only want people around on your terms, when it’s convenient to you. You don’t want to give anything. You only ever think about what you need, not what anyone else needs.”

“I have a job to do,” Yuzu starts. He hates when Javi acts like they have all the time in the world, like Yuzu could spend all day goofing off and still be a champion.

“So do I,” Javi hisses. “And you don’t see me shutting everyone out.”

“Is different!” Yuzu protests.

“Oh, because you’re so special,” Javi mocks.

“Yes,” Yuzu says. A hot flare of anger burns through him. “I am more special than you. So is different.”

“And yet somehow I’m the one with gold today,” Javi says. “Funny how that works.”

Yuzu makes a strangled, infuriated noise.

“Believe it or not, I did think we could be friends,” Javi says. “We’ve always supported each other, and I think we’ve been good for each other too.”

Yuzu doesn’t say anything. He crosses his arms tightly over his chest.

“But I realized something,” Javi says. “You don’t actually want friends. You don’t want to be a part of someone else’s life that way, and you don’t even really want someone to be part of your own. You just want admirers who will leave you alone whenever you want.”

Yuzu’s mouth opens and shuts, words eluding him. Javi doesn’t sound that mad anymore, just resigned.

“I’m going to go have a nice dinner to celebrate my second consecutive world championship,” Javi says. “I hope you have fun sitting alone in your room watching videos.”

“Thanks, I will,” Yuzu snaps.

“Sorry for always trying to get you to be a regular person,” Javi snaps back. “I’ll leave you alone now.”

“Good,” Yuzu almost yells.

“Fine,” Javi says. He walks quickly out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. 

Yuzu stands there, breathing hard, staring at the closed door. It’s like he’s just finished a grueling workout, the same mix of burning ache and exhausted satisfaction. It felt _good_ , somehow, saying all those things. Being truthful for once, letting his feelings out instead of trying to spare Javi’s. And it seemed like it was the same for Javi, words coming up from deep inside him. They spend so much time dancing around each other, trying to keep each other appeased for the good of the club, that it’s a relief to address things head-on. In a weird way, yelling at each other is the closest they've been to each other all season. 

_At least this way I don’t have to pretend_ , Yuzu thinks. He can be as bitter and as sad as he wants about his loss, and it’s fine. It won’t hurt their friendship, because apparently they aren’t friends. Besides, Yuzu probably has to take some time off of skating because of his foot, so it’s not like he’ll see Javi that much. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.

Yuzu hauls his suitcase down the hallway and out of the building, as fast as he can on his aching foot. There’s a car waiting for him to take him back to the hotel, and he gets in without saying a word. The relief of telling the truth is still tingling through his body, buoying him up. 

It lasts until he gets out of the van and into the hotel. As soon as the doors of the elevator close behind him, he bursts into tears, soundless sobs that come with no warning. He leans his face against the wall of the elevator and puts his arms up, hiding himself from the little red eye of the surveillance camera. Just in case anyone is watching.

The tears have mostly dried up by the time he gets to his room. He’s lucky the keycard he found in his pocket has the room number written on it, so he doesn’t have to circle the hotel looking for a room he’s technically never slept in before. He drops his backpack on the floor and flings himself onto the mattress. Probably something else is supposed to happen now, but he doesn’t have the energy to figure out what it is.

Ten minutes later, someone knocks at his door, light but insistent. “Yuzuru,” his mom’s voice calls.

Yuzu fishes his phone out of his pocket. He has three missed calls from her, and one from Brian. Oops.

“Yuzuru!” his mom says, sharply. “I know you’re in there.”

Yuzu hauls himself off the bed and drags himself to the door. His mom’s brow is furrowed, her face suspicious, but when she sees him, it softens.

“Can I come in?” she asks gently, as though she wasn’t just trying to pound his door down.

Yuzu opens the door wider and moves aside. His mom gets just inside the doorway, then turns with her arms open, and suddenly Yuzu is nestling into her shoulder again, the way he has since he was small.

“It wasn’t that bad,” his mom murmurs. “I know it’s sad, but you fought so hard.”

Yuzu swallows.

“They wanted to know if you were doing the gala and Brian told them yes. I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Yuzu says absently.

“Then we’ll go back to Toronto for a while,” his mom says, the way she used to tell him about what errands they had to run after school.

“Not Japan?” Yuzu doesn’t have enough left in him to feel surprised, or concerned, but it’s still weird.

“In Toronto they have better ways to help your foot heal,” his mom says. “I arranged it all for you, don’t worry. We’ve got the plane ticket on Monday morning.”

“Okay,” Yuzu says. He doesn’t know what else to say. “Okay.”

His mom rubs his back gently, holding him for just a moment longer. Then she lets him go.

The night and the next day are a haze of sadness and painkillers. He talks and laughs at gala practice, but it isn’t really him doing it—it’s someone else, playing the role of Yuzuru Hanyu. Javi hovers on the periphery of his vision, talking and laughing too, but never directly to Yuzu. Yuzu’s smile is starting to feel painted-on, an imperfect cover for the ache in his heart.

He gets a wild, desperate idea. Since his revelation during the free skate practice, he’s been planning to take it easy, preparing for another period of recovery. But he can’t stand feeling like this. What if he pushes himself too hard one last time, during the gala? Then maybe he’ll be skipped past recovery and wake up in a future when he can skate again. No pain, no boredom, no time spent off the ice. Yuzu lines up for a triple axel, swinging his arms vigorously to launch himself as high as he can go. He doesn’t have time to be weak.

At the gala, he gives Requiem his all. Every drop of despair in his heart mixes with the larger sea of all his life’s regrets, fueling his performance. He skates with breakneck intensity, as if it’s his very last time. When he takes his ending pose, wrapping his arms around himself and looking into the distance, he feels like he’s staring down his future self. _Skip me, I dare you._ People stand up, applauding heartily. He swallows hard.

The moment the finale finishes, he rushes into the bathroom and sobs in one of the stalls, fist pressed over his mouth so he doesn’t make any noise. This better have worked, because he’s getting really sick of crying. He doesn’t know where he’ll wake up tomorrow, but he almost doesn’t care—anything would be better than this. He blows his nose on some toilet paper, takes a deep breath, and steels himself to go back outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched the Boston performance of Seimei with my own two eyes after avoiding it for over a year so I could make this as accurate as possible and I'm never watching it again


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Efforts may lie, but they will never be in vain. (Or: Yuzu starts from scratch.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note: this chapter contains non-graphic descriptions of injury recovery.

Yuzu is lying on his bed again, staring at the ceiling. Usually when he’s in Toronto, he doesn’t have that much time to spend in bed—he’s at the rink, or studying, or running errands. But recovering from the foot injury means he’s suddenly got a lot of time for other things. Like contemplating the light fixture until his eyes blur.

Technically, everything’s fine. Or, if not _fine,_ at least a lot better than anyone expected. Despite his best efforts to permanently damage his foot, it won’t need surgery, just rest. He has to keep off it for six weeks, and do a whole bunch of physical therapy after that, but the prognosis is very good. He could even return on schedule next season, if all goes well. But it’s not cheering him up, not really. 

All his best efforts to skip at the gala were for nothing. The next day, he woke up in the same damn hotel room, and he had to pack his bags and catch his flight back to Toronto. Yuzu kept his hopes up for a few more days, even stomping his foot on the floor a few times just in case. But each day followed the next in an infuriatingly ordinary fashion, and Yuzu’s heart sank a little further every time. When he had his first orthopedist appointment, five days after the gala, he finally gave up. He can’t skip his way past this, apparently. What’s the point of traveling in time if it never takes him anywhere he wants to go?

Yuzu sighs, shifting his foot where it’s propped on a pillow, encased in a thick, immobilizing cast. It itches, but it doesn’t matter. The effort it would take to do something about it feels Herculean. The light fixture is exactly the same as it always is: three glass bells pointing in different directions, anchored to a fan. The ceiling is dusty, bright white paint underneath. Yuzu’s childhood bedroom had a spidery crack in the ceiling shaped like a bolt of lightning, and water stains he used to read like constellations: a cat, a fat man wearing a cape, a heart. But there aren’t any cracks or stains here; this apartment is brand new. 

His phone is on the bedside table, but he doesn’t feel like checking it. If he checks it, he’ll see all the texts he hasn’t answered yet, the emails that have gone unread. Other skaters want to wish him a speedy recovery, and his manager needs a formal statement that he’s not doing the ice shows, and Ghana wants him to answer some asinine questionnaire about his favorite flavors with chocolate. Brian wished for his foot to heal completely at 11:11 yesterday, and Saya sent him pictures of the bees’ nest on the patio back home, and none of it is making Yuzu feel anything but foggy and numb and listless.

It’s selfish, probably, to have so many people who care about him and ignore them all. Everywhere Yuzu turns is another outpouring of love, more than he deserves. But it can’t get to him, because it’s like he’s behind a thick, impenetrable wall.

Yuzu’s won a lot of competitions, but he’s lost his fair share, too. He thought he was familiar with the range of emotions after a bad competition. Regret, shame, determination to improve, frustration with himself. He’s never felt like this before—he’s not even sure you could call it _feeling._ It’s so deep-rooted, so constant, he has no idea how it could possibly change, or end.

His mom tried to tell him that silver was a good result for someone who was as injured as he was. But Yuzu had been injured in the short program, too, and yet he’d somehow landed in first, and almost broken his own record. The injury wasn’t an excuse. Maybe the timeskipping threw him off, or his other self was more prepared, but those aren’t good excuses either. At this point, he should be ready for anything.

For the past couple weeks, he’s been having the same dream every night. He’s coming off the ice, dejected and tired, knowing he failed. The scores appear, fifty-foot red numbers that hang ominously in the air, while an announcer’s voice cackles its disapproval. He tries to make his way to the banquet, but he gets lost, trapped in an endless winding maze with nowhere to turn. Eventually he gives up, sits down, and sobs. Yuzu awakens from these dreams feeling more tired than when he fell asleep.

He had one again, last night. It’s probably why his head feels so heavy, why it seems like getting out of bed would be harder than running a marathon. He’s supposed to rest as much as he can, anyway, especially this early in the recovery. Maybe he’ll read some manga, or listen to music, but that seems like a lot of effort too.

Yuzu thought he wouldn’t have to deal with this part. He was going to wake up somewhere else, able to skate at full power again. Maybe he was wrong about what caused the skips, or then again maybe it was too soon for him to skip again, or you can’t skip if you’re trying to do it on purpose. He still feels the force of the revelation he had during practice, and it’s hard to believe he could be wrong about something that came to him so strongly.

So now he’s got a game plan, of sorts, to stabilize the timeline. Don’t get injured, don’t do stupid things to make yourself more injured, end of story. It feels as hard as breaking another record. And the worst part is there’s nothing he can do about it now, except lie here and wait for his ligaments to knit back together.

Yuzu closes his eyes, trying to take another nap. He wishes he was a bear and could hibernate for the next two months, and wake up magically healed. He wishes he was the sock on his floor, complete and undisturbed. Really, he wishes he was anything but Yuzuru Hanyu.

Two weeks pass, slow and endless. Yuzu musters up the energy to move around the apartment more often, leaning heavily on his crutches as he goes from bed to couch to dining room table. His mom pesters him to eat more protein to strengthen his ligaments, to spend time in the sunlight for the Vitamin D, and he mostly does what she says. He hates choking down extra eggs and meat, and the sunshine doesn’t make him feel lighter, but it would be too much of a hassle to argue with his mom. He sees the worry in her eyes, the faint shadow that never quite leaves no matter how much she smiles at him.

He leaves the house once a week, to see his fleet of doctors and physical therapists. His foot is healing well, but slowly, the same old song. His body never heals fast. He’s lucky he’s ever been able to skate at all.

The flood of messages from the rest of the skating world has pretty much dried up in the face of Yuzu’s terse, days-late responses. Nobu is still texting him all the time, but Nobu texts him all the time regardless of whether Yuzu answers. Misha keeps sending him inspirational memes he probably found on Instagram. It’s a nice thought, but Yuzu doesn’t need to be inspired. He needs his skating back. 

None of Yuzu’s messages are from Javi. He hasn’t heard from Javi since Javi stormed out of the luggage room. It’s fine. It’s probably better this way. Javi must be preparing for shows now, or getting new choreo, or spending time in his hometown—all the things Yuzu can’t do, and doesn’t need to be reminded of. 

By the fifth week in Toronto, the doctors have cleared him to start working out his upper body and do more leg stretches.

“Maybe the exercise will help you feel better,” his mom says after they leave the office. “Cheer you up.”

“Yeah,” Yuzu says, vaguely.

Doing more things, getting his life back gradually, doesn’t make him feel better. But it does make him feel _different._ It’s like the fog of malaise around him has thickened into pure frustration and despair. He feels disgusted with himself, his greasy overgrown hair and atrophied muscles, his body an unused tool growing rusty. His shrunken world of home and doctors’ office seems pitiful and constraining. The dreams about Worlds have stopped, but when he tries to do image training, he can’t get the picture right. It always ends with him messing up the jump or tripping over his feet.

One day while his mom’s at the grocery store, he tries to watch film of the Worlds free skate, to pick his performance apart rationally. He gets as far as the first botched jump before he’s consumed with rage and regret, churning inside him as he watches himself fight through a lackluster performance. Why couldn’t he do it right? Why did he have to end the season this way, proving right all the gossipy journalists who predicted his downfall with a shake of the head, pretending to be sad about it? If this is the last thing anyone ever sees of him on the world stage, all his naysayers will have a field day. _We told you Hanyu was too good to be true._

The self on his screen begins the step sequence, and Yuzu winces. There’s none of the usual sharpness here. He looks as tired and battle-worn as he’d felt. Watching it again, he sees what his mom meant about silver. Gold is the only good result, but it’s a miracle that he didn’t slide off the podium, or all the way out of the top ten. The man in this video looks like he should have screwed up way more jumps than he actually did.

He can see Brian’s face in the corner of the video, intent and worried, trying to carry Yuzu’s negative energy for him. Brian does everything he can to support his athletes, reminding them they don’t have to shoulder their burdens alone. Yuzu shies away from it often, feeling like he’s slacking off if he doesn’t fight for himself. But it’s nice to have Brian in his corner anyway. And so many other people at the club have imbibed this philosophy, too: Tracy, Ghislain, even Javi…

The absolute ridiculousness of his fight with Javi becomes suddenly, painfully clear to him. Why was he so mad at Javi for doing well? This mess of a free skate was nobody’s fault but Yuzu’s. Javi wasn’t asking him to come to a celebratory dinner because he wanted to rub it in Yuzu’s face. He just wanted to cheer Yuzu up, to give him a little of the victory for his own. And when Javi tried to do what he always does, share the burden and the joy, Yuzu shoved him aside like a selfish child. No wonder Javi got pissed.

Yuzu stops the video and digs out his phone, fumbling through his contacts. Javi picks up the video call after four rings, just when Yuzu has given up on him answering.

“Hello?” he says, baffled. He’s in a bedroom, half a soccer poster behind his head, dimming evening light flooding his face. He must be in Spain.

“I’m so sorry,” Yuzu blurts out. “I was so bad to you at Worlds, Javi, I’m really, really sorry.”

Javi blinks rapidly, like he’s taking it in. 

“I was happy you win,” Yuzu presses on. “I just—I feel so sad, and I take it out on you. And that’s not fair. I’m sorry.” He can hear himself sounding more pathetic as he goes on, his voice rising higher and higher the way it always does when he speaks English. “Please forget I say so much bad things. I try to never do it again.” He closes his eyes tightly, too nervous suddenly to keep looking at Javi’s face.

He hears a low chuckle and opens them again. Javi’s face is softer, maybe even a little fond, although the picture quality on the video isn’t good. “I forgive you.”

“Thank you,” Yuzu says, letting out a breath.

“I didn’t think you were going to apologize,” Javi says. “I just thought you would ignore it and pretend nothing happened.”

“I was going to,” Yuzu says. “But I watch my own skate—“

“Of course you did.”

“And is not Javi’s fault I lose. I lose anyway, even if you skate bad too.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m glad you skate good. You deserve—you deserve gold.” He clears his throat. “I just wish you don’t have to get gold against me.”

Javi chuckles again. “Thanks for that.” He takes a moment, looking lost in thought. “It’s not all your fault either. I should have known you wouldn’t be feeling up to celebrating my win right after you lost.”

“Is okay,” Yuzu says. “I forgive you too. You just try to be nice, like always. I need to be more like you.”

“You’re not so bad as you are,” Javi teases. 

“I wish they give two golds,” Yuzu says, warmed by Javi’s smile. “Then we don’t need to have this problems every year.”

“That would be nice,” Javi agrees. He yawns, stretching his arms over his head. “Sorry. I’m a little sleepy.”

“How are you?” Yuzu asks. “You in Spain?”

Javi nods. “It’s nice. I was out with my family all day. We went to the park, I played football with my little cousins, then we went out for lunch.”

Yuzu smiles. It sounds like Javi’s perfect day. “And then you take a nap?”

“Maybe.” Javi sticks out his tongue. “Trying to get all my rest in before the shows start in a couple weeks.”

“Mmm,” Yuzu says absently. He’d managed to forget about the shows for a few hours, and his heart sinks at the reminder. He’ll miss so much this year.

“How are you?” Javi says. “Isn’t it like 4 am for you right now? Why are you even awake?”

Yuzu shakes his head. “I’m in Toronto.”

“Oh, really? Are you getting new choreo before the shows?”

Javi doesn’t know. His lack of “get well soon” texts wasn’t petty—he didn’t know Yuzu was hurt at all. Yuzu hadn’t told him, because he was still mad, and Javi almost never pays attention to skating news during the offseason. 

Yuzu swallows. “I won’t be at shows.”

“Why not?”

“My foot is injured,” Yuzu admits. “It was hurt at Worlds. That’s why I skate so bad.” He hates saying it like that, like it’s an excuse, but it is true.

Javi’s brow furrows. “How bad is it?”

“I don’t need surgery,” Yuzu says. “But I have to use crutches for bit longer. Two more weeks, they take this off.” He angles the phone so Javi can see his cast.

Yuzu hears Javi gasp, and he tilts the phone back. “Jesus. I’m so sorry, Yuzu.”

Yuzu shrugs. “Is okay. My own fault, too. I am hurt all year, I just make a lot worse.”

Javi’s face twists, sympathy and worry all at once. “I had no idea.”

“I don’t want to tell anyone,” Yuzu says. He considers. “Part of why I don’t want to hang out at Barcelona. Too much pressure on me, and a lot of thing to fight. I’m sorry for that, too.”

“It’s okay,” Javi says softly. “It’s—you need to stop always doing this to yourself.”

“I know,” Yuzu says, a little too harshly.

“I wish I could give you a hug right now,” Javi says.

“Me too,” Yuzu says. “You owe me when you come back.”

“Okay,” Javi says solemnly, like it’s very important. “I won’t forget.”

“Good.”

“You’re—I’m—“ Javi pauses, and then seems to change his mind about what he was going to say. He clears his throat. “Next time I beat you, I want to beat you at your best. So you better heal up and get back to the top of your game, okay?”

Yuzu nods, two or three times. “You train hard too. Skate like you do at Worlds, I skate like NHK, we rematch.”

“I’d lose that,” Javi says.

“Maybe,” Yuzu says, stretching out the word, thinking _yes._

“It’s almost dinnertime here, I need to go,” Javi says. “But—talk to me if you want, okay? If you want to be friends, then I want to be friends.”

“I always want to be friends,” Yuzu says, quickly and indignantly. “I’m just bad sometime. But I try harder.”

“Okay,” Javi says, smiling his big sunny smile. “Have a good day.” He hangs up. Yuzu stares into the phone for a while longer, trying to figure out if he’s about to cry or not. The feeling passes, whatever it was, and leaves him—hungry. Probably all Javi’s talk about dinner and lunch. He heaves himself up off the couch, maneuvering his crutches around the coffee table, and goes into the kitchen to see if there’s more of that salmon from last night.

It’s like watching that program opened the floodgates, because after weeks of avoiding even thinking about skating, Yuzu’s suddenly watching film every day. He watches Worlds a few more times, until most of the sting has gone out of it and all he sees are things to work on. He compares it with NHK, with the two world records at the Grand Prix Final that his other self broke on his behalf. (Sometimes, Yuzu isn’t so sure that he should try to change that other self. He seems to have things pretty well figured out.)

Later that week, Yuzu digs out his notebooks and starts a new one for his recovery, jotting down how his foot has been feeling as it heals. He makes a list in his skating notebook of all the things he wants to work on once he gets back on the ice. In two weeks, they’re going to let him skate again, and he can’t wait.

Finally, Yuzu opens up his notebook on the timeskipping. The list of possible reasons why he keeps moving forward in time stares back at him, mocking him in its inaccuracy. What was he thinking? He crosses it out, pressing hard into the paper, and writes his newfound revelation on the opposite page: STAY HEALTHY. TRAIN INTELLIGENTLY. DON’T GET INJURED.

The door swings open and his mom walks into the apartment, holding a tote bag and a bouquet of flowers. “They had such beautiful lilies at the farmers’ market,” she says. “Oh, what are you working on?”

“Skating stuff,” Yuzu says, twisting his head to see the flowers.

His mom looks happier than she has in a long time, the lines on her face smoothed out. “It’s nice to see you doing that again,” she says.

She walks over and tries to peek at the time travel notebook. Yuzu covers it quickly with his arms. “Don’t look!”

“So it’s top secret even from your mother, hmm?” she teases. “I see how it is.”

Yuzu relents. “It’s just a list of goals for next season.” He uncovers the side with the new list, taking care to keep the old page folded over.

“They sound good to me.” His mom ruffles his hair. “I’d better get these flowers in some water.”

 

The first day Yuzu is allowed back on the ice is like the first day of school when he was a kid. He lays his clothes out for the morning with a throb of anticipation in his heart. He texts Javi about it and gets a dozen raised-arm emojis in response. Yuzu knows his body is weaker than usual, that he has a long way to go to be in top form again, but he’s missed the ice so much.

But stepping out onto the club rink erases all his optimism in one fell swoop. His legs are shaky, like a newborn deer, and he almost trips when he tries to skate a little faster. He ends up looping around the rink slowly, barely moving his feet.

“That’s good,” Brian says. Yuzu snaps his head up indignantly. What kind of fool does Brian take him for? Children of five could outskate him in his current state.

“I mean it,” Brian says, in response to Yuzu’s glare. “You haven’t done hardly anything with your lower body in six weeks. But your legs will get their memory back.”

“Okay,” Yuzu says, skeptically.

“It might take a little while,” Brian says. “I’m not saying it won’t. But if you give it time, it’ll come back to you. You’ll see.”

Yuzu gives it time, he really does. He tries to build his skating back up little by little, strengthening his muscles and savoring the feeling of being on the ice again. He doesn’t go too fast or push too hard, mindful of what he’s learned.

But after a month, he’s still a total mess on the ice. His jumps are eluding him. He’s been practicing singles, and then a few doubles, but it doesn’t feel like a _progression,_ exactly—it’s more like random chance. He did all kinds of research into jump technique and watched hours of footage while he was still off the ice, so he felt prepared. But as soon as he tries to put those ideas into practice, it all falls apart. It’s like his mind can’t speak to his body anymore, can’t translate the image into action. The days when he jumps best seem to be the days when he thinks “fuck it” and just tries to jump however he can. He’s at a loss here, no idea which way to turn.

There’s only so much optimism Yuzu can sustain in the face of this. He sees himself standing in front of the judges next season on wobbly legs, tripping and falling on a double axel like some junior brought up to seniors too early. He feels like a bird without wings, earthbound and struggling. Is he ever going to be able to jump again?

He knows the coaches are worried about him, and it makes him furious and ashamed, his face going hot when he sees them look at him with concern. Regardless of how many times Brian tells him it’s not about results, Yuzu knows what he owes to the people who turned him into a true champion: nothing less than perfection. Instead, he gives them stress, and sadness at his poor physical condition, and a lot of extra security expenses to keep his fans out. It’s not fair.

One afternoon, Tracy is watching Yuzu jump, her arms crossed in front of her. Yuzu does a double toe, a double loop, a double sal, and a total mess of a double axel that turns into a single, Yuzu’s leg swinging out wildly in the air. When he lands back on the ice, he sits down immediately, chin on his knees. What’s the point of trying to jump if he can’t land an axel? 

To his surprise, Tracy sits down next to him. “I know that wasn’t what you were going for, but it was kind of cool. Brian used to jump amazing single axels when he was your age.”

“Mmm,” Yuzu says. He feels bad leaving it at that, so he says, “I watch video of Brian. Before I come here. His axel really good.”

“You should tell him that sometime.” Tracy laughs. “You would have fit right in back then. Everybody in their bright flashy colors—Brian had those wild pantsuits, maybe you’ve seen. And you would have been great at figures, you’re so precise.” She considers. “Honestly, you would have been great in any era. You’re that good.”

“I like now,” Yuzu says firmly. “I like new scoring, so I’m knowing what to fix. And I like quads the most.” He sighs.

Tracy reaches out to touch his arm. “Your quads will come back.”

“Maybe no,” Yuzu says, before he can stop himself. “Maybe I am just—this now. Bad jumps. Done.“ It’s like all his fears are climbing out of his mouth, everything he’s suppressed in the face of _take it slow_ and _you’ll get there._ Because maybe he won’t. When he had that big revelation, he assumed he was supposed to take better care of himself, train more cautiously. But the longer Yuzu goes without his quads, the more he thinks that maybe he got things twisted. Maybe his future self wants him to stop trying so hard for something that’s never going to happen. Maybe he hurts himself worse in the comeback attempt, and—

“Hey, shh,” Tracy says, and that’s how Yuzu realizes he’s hyperventilating. “Breathe, okay? In, out. In, and out. There you go.”

Yuzu follows her lead, taking deep breaths. After a while, his breathing slows, and the wheezing stops.

“Let’s stroke for a bit,” Tracy says. “I don’t know about you, but my butt’s getting cold.”

Yuzu gives a short little laugh. He picks himself up slowly, turning to offer a hand to Tracy, but she’s already sprung up by herself.

“Let me put on some music,” Tracy says, “and we’ll start like we always do. Okay?”

Yuzu nods. Tracy fiddles with the PA system and suddenly the smooth, deep sounds of a cello fill the rink. It’s Bach, Yuzu recognizes.

Tracy joins him back on the ice and they glide slowly, moving their arms back and forth in time. The familiar stroking exercises take them up and down the rink, skating first forwards, then backwards. The smooth, repetitive movements soothe Yuzu’s mind, and soon he’s not thinking about anything but his blades on the ice, making that sharp, crisp sound.

“Time for a drink of water,” Tracy says, coming to a stop at the edge of the rink near the benches. Yuzu comes along beside her, taking a huge swig out of his sports drink.

“Stroking exercises always make me think about how much I practiced my edge work when I first started ice dance,” Tracy tells him. “Hours and hours just on how my blades were moving.”

Yuzu grimaces in sympathy. Ice dance is tough in a whole different way.

“Did you do a lot of these when you were a kid?” Tracy asks.

Yuzu shakes his head. “I don’t have time. I get sick more as a kid, so I don't spend so much hours in the rink. Also I hate them.” Ugh, that isn’t right—he loves skating exercises now. Stupid English. “Hat _ed_ them.”

Tracy laughs. “Most kids do.”

“I just want to do performance,” Yuzu says. “I like when everybody look at me and say ‘Wah!’ I hate practice when I was kid.”

“You were a little star,” Tracy says fondly. “What? I’ve seen videos of you, too.”

Yuzu wrinkles his nose. He forgets, sometimes, just how much of his childhood is out there on the Internet. At least it’s mostly performances where he did well.

“Let’s skate a little more,” Tracy says. “A few more exercises, then we’ll cool ourselves down.”

They ease back into it, picking up a little speed as they go, but nothing too flashy. It’s solid and simple, an everyday routine. The cello serenading them is a solitary voice, sometimes fast and sometimes slow, and Yuzu tries to match his movements to the music. He can’t really help it; when he hears a song, he has to figure it out this way, give it shape in his body. He sinks into the music, the feel of the ice, the air flowing past him. It feels good, the best he’s felt in a long time.

There’s no way he can give this up, he realizes. Even if he’s bad now, even if he’s doomed to wobble his way through singles and doubles, as long as his blades can touch the ice he has to come back to it. Nothing is good otherwise. He loves skating. He loves it so much—

Yuzu stops abruptly because he’s crying now, tears pouring down his face. Tracy stops instantly too, opening her arms to him without saying a word. He hugs her as he sobs. He tries to stop, a little embarrassed, but it’s like every bad feeling from the past two months is pouring out of him at once. 

“I love skating,” he whimpers into Tracy’s shoulder. “I just—love skating so much.”

Tracy hums in sympathy, a soft sound that reminds Yuzu of his mom.

Eventually he gets it under control and pulls away to blow his nose instead of getting more snot on Tracy. She skates to the bench with him and sits down next to him while he dabs at his eyes and sniffles.

“It’s been really hard for you lately, hasn’t it,” Tracy says, not really a question.

Yuzu nods. He honks into a tissue.

“I was thinking today—“ Tracy stops, then starts again. “I don’t have the magic answers. But I do think I know what might be going on.”

Yuzu turns toward her, eager. He’ll take anything at this point.

“I think your body is fine,” Tracy says. “You’re still building up your stamina, but that’s normal. I think the problem is in here, and maybe in here too.” She taps her head, points to her heart.

“How?” Yuzu asks.

“Let me ask you something. What are the most important things you need in order to jump?”

Yuzu racks his brains for what feels like an eternity. Lots of things come to mind—tight air position, speed, technique—but none of those seem right. Tracy had said it wasn’t anything to do with his body.

“Okay, let me ask an easier question,” Tracy says. “When you first learned jumps as a kid, were you scared?”

Yuzu shakes his head. “I want to learn jumps so bad. I was just…exciting.”

“And you just tried them out, right?”

“Yeah. I fall over so many times, but I always try again. Was fun, not scary.”

“I never jumped a lot, back in my day, so maybe you should take this with a grain of salt.” Tracy looks him in the eyes. “But I think the two most important things you need to jump are _confidence_ and _freedom._ ”

Yuzu rubs his forehead, trying to think of what that could mean.

“You need the confidence to go up into the air and trust—know—that you’ll land the right way. And you need the freedom to throw yourself into your skating, to follow your instincts without second-guessing. Does that make sense?”

Yuzu nods.

“You’ve been so worried about doing it wrong,” Tracy says, softly. “You’ve been feeling desperate, not free. And you’ve lost your confidence in your ability to do it right. When you get that back, your jumps will come too.”

She’s right, Yuzu realizes. He’s been pushing frantically, weighing himself down with too many thoughts, afraid to try much of anything. He didn’t want to be reckless. But freedom is different from recklessness, and he’d squashed that too, with an overabundance of caution and the sinking feeling of disbelief in himself.

“It’s already starting,” Tracy says. “Today, you said you loved skating. What if you thought about that when you jumped? Instead of worrying if your technique is right.”

“I don’t know,” Yuzu says. “I have to picture…”

“I know the image is important to you,” Tracy says. “And I’m not saying you shouldn’t. But your body knows the image. So trust your body.”

“Okay,” Yuzu says. “Okay, I try.”

“Good,” Tracy says. She grins at him, bright and cheerful.

“Thank you,” Yuzu says, with a sudden sinking feeling at the thought of how much time and effort Tracy’s spent on him today. “I’m sorry—“

“There’s nothing you need to apologize for,” Tracy interrupts. “It’s okay to let someone help you out once in a while, instead of just trying to help yourself. Two heads are better than one, right?”

Yuzu blinks, trying to picture Tracy with his head on her shoulders as well.

Tracy laughs. “I guess that expression is only in English. It just means, it’s good to have two people working on something, because you can see it from more than one angle.”

“Oh,” Yuzu says. “Well, maybe next time we have four heads.” He giggles.

“Does that mean you want Brian and Ghislain at our next practice?” Tracy asks.

Yuzu nods. “All four heads.” Sometimes English is good, actually.

“All right,” Tracy says, amusement in her voice. “Let’s get things back to the way they were.”

On the train ride back to the apartment, Yuzu checks his messages. There’s one from Javi:

_i will be back at the club next week!!!_

Yuzu sends Javi a smiley face. _see you soon! sorry i don’t text much, busy trying to jump again_

Javi’s reply comes right away. _is it working?_

Yuzu smiles. _Finally i think so_

One week later, Yuzu arrives at the club to find Javi already there, sipping a coffee on the bench with his skates only halfway laced up.

“You early but you still not ready,” Yuzu says, sticking out his tongue.

Javi looks up and grins when he sees Yuzu, hastily bending over to tie the rest of his laces. “Hey, you,” he says. He stands up and wobbles over to Yuzu, hugging him tightly. With his skates on, he’s taller than usual. Yuzu’s face is crushed against his shoulder as they pat each other on the back.

“Good to see you,” Yuzu says as they pull apart.

“You too,” Javi says, squeezing Yuzu’s waist one last time. “Sit down with me for a bit.”

“Okay,” Yuzu says, sitting on the bench next to Javi. He opens his suitcase and takes out his skates, toeing off his shoes and putting them into the empty space where his skates were.

“How are you?” Javi asks. “Is your foot doing better?”

“Yeah, it’s lot better. I’m still not so good at jumps, but I'm trying really hard.”

“I’m sure you are,” Javi says. “You always try hard.”

Yuzu pauses. He wants to tell Javi something, let him into his life a little bit, to show that he can be friends this season. Or at least not totally distant. He goes for it. “I think maybe—I was thinking I don’t get my jumps back in time to be good this season.”

“Oh no,” Javi says softly. “But they’re coming back now, right?”

“Yeah, they little better now. Tracy help a lot.”

“You’re going to be fine this season,” Javi says. “You’re Yuzuru Hanyu, after all.”

“Yeah.” Who he is doesn’t have to mean anything, but Yuzu doesn’t really want to talk about that. He changes the subject. “How was Spain?”

“Really nice. I spent lots of time with my family, relaxed, did a summer camp for little kids.” Javi smiles a secret smile. “Had a visit from Miki.”

“Does that mean—“

“Yeah, we’re dating now.” Javi’s looking over at Yuzu intently, like he’s watching for a reaction. “We started dating around December last year.”

“And you don’t tell me?”

Javi’s brow furrows. “You barely talked to me at all last season. When would I have been able to tell you?”

“Okay, true,” Yuzu acknowledges. “I’m really sorry about that. But. I’m really exciting for you two! That is so nice.”

“You seem really happy about it,” Javi says, sounding surprised.

“Miki always date really bad guys,” Yuzu explains. “And you are nicest person I know. I’m glad she dating someone good for once. She is so cool.”

“I’m glad you think she’s cool,” Javi laughs. “I should tell her.”

“She already know. She ask me about you, and I tell her you are good and she is good, so go for it.” Yuzu remembers, suddenly, the reason why Javi and Miki didn’t go out the first time she asked him. “So it not working out with the other person you like, then?”

Javi startles. “How do you know about that?”

“I ask her how it go first time she ask you out, and she tell me you like someone else and want to try with them first.”

Javi nods, his eyes shifting around. “Yeah, I—“ He sighs. “I thought maybe that I had something with—with this person, but then I realized that it was never going to happen. So. I just decided last year to ask Miki again, and she said she still liked me, so.”

“Mmm,” Yuzu nods. He’s not really sure what to say—he doesn’t know what it’s like to figure out all this dating stuff—so he just pats Javi on the back. “Time to skate now?”

Javi smiles faintly. “Okay, yeah. Time to skate.”

When Brian and Tracy arrive, ready to start the session, Yuzu speeds down the rink. _I love skating,_ he thinks as he winds up for a triple axel, swinging his arms. Three and a half rotations in the air, and Yuzu lands easily, arms raised in triumph and leg extended in perfect position. Brian, Tracy, and Javi applaud, and Yuzu turns to them with a big grin. He takes a bow, just because he can.

“See, I knew it,” Javi says. “You can come back.”

“Yeah,” Yuzu pants. For the first time in a while, he feels like he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuzu and Tracy are listening to Bach's famous Cello Suites while they do stroking exercises. (Yo-Yo Ma recently released an excellent new recording of the Cello Suites, which I listened to while editing this chapter and which I highly recommend.)
> 
> My source/inspiration for Yuzu's difficulties during recovery after Boston is an Ice Jewels interview from the beginning of the 2016-2017 season, translated by the wonderful yuzusorbet: https://yuzusorbet.tumblr.com/post/152938849872/ice-jewels-vol4-special-interview-before-start-of 
> 
> And if you've never seen any of Brian's competitive performances....you should. (I'm partial to his short program from the 1988 Olympics.)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hard work, a failed rematch and the world's best cheer-up present. (Or: if life decides to temporarily stop throwing you for loops, land a few of your own.)

Things get better, slowly but surely. Yuzu gets more of his jumps back, starts focusing more on perfecting his technique. He sets his sights on the quad loop, a jump he’s tried before but wants to finally add this year.

“I need to try it at least,” Yuzu tells Brian when he tries to object, saying Yuzu doesn’t need it. “And loop easier on my foot than lutz.”

Brian shakes his head, but he still smiles. “All right, if you insist.”

Yuzu finally feels confident enough in his comeback to get his choreography done, three new pieces that remind him why skating is fun. Let’s Go Crazy, a program to let loose and play in, with the fun, wild energy he loves from Brian’s era. Hope and Legacy, an expression of where skating’s brought him so far and where he hopes to take it. Notte Stellata, the starry night he saw on the darkest day of the disaster, the swan of hope. He puts in the single axel as a thank you to Tracy for lighting up the gloom of his recovery.

The last months of the offseason are a golden time for Yuzu. His body is finally recovering its stamina, his jumps are falling into place, his choreography feels more natural. He gets fitted for his costumes, glorying in rhinestones and feathers and velvet pants, the beautiful things that he loves to wear on the ice. He and Javi and the others work hard together, side by side on the ice. At the end of the day, he comes home to his mom watching dramas and a warm meal on the stove. He does his homework, practices in the mirror, falls asleep and stays asleep, until the next day rolls around, peaceful and routine.

Yuzu is—happy, unbelievably, like the horrible numb fog that had him in his grasp never existed. He vows not to take this for granted, to let this season be a season of joy no matter how many competitions he loses. Not that he’s going to lose that many competitions.

At a little arena in Montreal, Yuzu becomes the first man in history to land a quad loop in competition. The rest of his short program isn’t much to write home about, and neither is his free, but it’s just the first competition. And he still made history and won gold. That’s good enough for now.

Skate Canada is, as it so often turns out, a disaster. Yuzu flubs the quad loop in both the programs, messes up his combos, and is lucky to escape with silver. Patrick wins gold, the way he always does at Skate Canada. As Yuzu climbs onto the podium next to Patrick, he feels a shadow of that old jealousy come back, the way he felt when Patrick was always, always world champion. Yuzu’s the one at the top more often now, but some feelings never die.

After they get back from Skate Canada, Brian pulls Yuzu into his office.

“So I know it was exciting to land the quad loop at the Autumn Classic,” he starts, sitting down at his desk. “But after what happened at Skate Canada, I think you should consider taking it out. You don't need it to win, and you don’t even need it to have four quads in the free skate, if that’s what you want. Which I don’t think you need, either, but I understand why you want it.”

Yuzu shakes his head vigorously. “I need.”

Brian sighs. “Yuzu, I know you always want to go farther and farther. But maybe you’re already far enough for this year. Four quads is enough if you really want to challenge yourself. You could use the quads you already have, gain some consistency, and really be very successful this season.”

“I don’t need quad loop to win _this year,_ ” Yuzu says. “I need it to win next year. At Olympics.”

Brian seems a little startled. “That’s what this is about?”

Yuzu nods. “I need to get consistent—consistency for quad loop this year. So I can use during Olympic season. If I try quad loop next season, maybe I’m not getting stability for Olympics in time. But if I do now, then I can get good before Olympics.”

Brian looks thoughtful.

“I always like to win,” Yuzu says. “But—Skate Canada, doesn’t matter. What matters is second gold at Olympics.”

“You know, that’s a really good point,” Brian says. “I didn’t realize that’s what this was about. But I think that’s actually a great idea.”

“Yeah?” Yuzu thought Brian might fight back a little more.

“You’re an incredibly talented skater,” Brian says. “Your quads are such good quality that I don’t think you need so many to succeed. But you never know what can happen in a year, and having a lot of tools you can use to succeed at the Olympics is a smart strategy.”

Yuzu nods. “Is all leading to Olympics. This season is about next season.”

Brian smiles. “That’s a really mature way to look at it. I’m very proud of you for having a plan like that.”

When Yuzu lands the quad loop at the NHK Trophy and sees Brian out of the corner of his eye, leaping in triumph, Yuzu feels an extra surge of satisfaction. This wasn’t just him, fighting on his own against everyone else’s doubts. This was him and Brian, fighting as a team, executing a strategy together. On the same page.

At the Grand Prix Final, Yuzu finally does what he promised he’d do last year. After the competition is over, he texts Javi. _Video games in my room?_

Javi responds at lightning speed. _omw over_

Truthfully, this is as much about cheering up Javi as it is about keeping a promise. Yuzu squeaked into first despite some stupid mistakes, but Javi finished just off the podium, after a free skate full of shaky jumps that had Yuzu wincing. He wants to repay Javi, for all the times he’s reached out when Yuzu had a messy skate. Give back a little kindness, instead of taking all the time.

So Yuzu pulls out his newest console and they sit side by side on the floor, teasing and trash-talking each other as their onscreen characters battle. They order room service and Yuzu steals some of Javi’s french fries, laughing when Javi tickles him as revenge. Yuzu doesn’t say a word about skating, trying to keep things light, and when he sees Javi grinning over at him, some of the tension gone from around his eyes, he feels like his efforts have paid off. 

As they finish their food, Javi keeps glancing at his phone, as if he’s expecting something.

“Waiting for Miki?” Yuzu teases.

Javi glances up, a little startled. “Yeah. We’re supposed to talk at 10.”

“That’s really early in Japan,” Yuzu says. “She really like you, I see.”

“I mean. She does. But she’s also in Moscow this week planning for an ice show.”

“Oh.” Yuzu glances at the clock. It’s quarter to ten. “You better go, she will call soon.”

Javi looks grateful and guilty at the same time. “I’m sorry, this was a lot of fun—“

“Don’t worry,” Yuzu says. “Girlfriend more important than me, I understand.”

Yuzu laughs at his own joke, but Javi doesn’t really respond, looking down at the floor.

“Go,” Yuzu says, giving Javi a quick hug. “Tell her I say hi.”

After the high of the Grand Prix Final, Yuzu crashes, trying to grind it out and make it through the two weeks before Nationals. He feels strangely unmotivated, like he’s just sleepwalking through his day. When he wakes up with a high fever a few days before official practices start, he realizes that what he thought was end-of-year malaise was actually him slowly coming down with the flu.

“I’ll withdraw,” he tells his mom when she comes in to check on him, bringing apple juice and aspirin.

“You’re sure?” his mom says, feeling his forehead. “You might be able to recover in time.”

Yuzu shakes his head. “I just want to get better and not think about that.” They might not let him go to Worlds, but in his current state, that doesn’t seem that important. The page from his notebook flashes into his mind: STAY HEALTHY. TRAIN INTELLIGENTLY. DON’T GET INJURED. He’s been doing so well with his goals so far. If he tries to skate right after being sick, he’ll be putting that all at risk.

“Okay,” his mom says. “I’ll tell everyone. You don’t worry about anything, okay? Just rest.”

Yuzu nods. He rolls himself further up into his blanket and lays back on his pillow, achy and miserable.

It takes him the whole week to feel even halfway normal, which sucks but also vindicates his decision. He couldn’t have skated like this and done well at all. They put him on the Worlds list anyway. Javi laughs when Yuzu tells him on his first day back at the club.

“Of course they were going to put you on the Worlds list,” Javi says, reaching for Yuzu’s hair like he’s going to ruffle it. Yuzu ducks away. “You’re Olympic champion.”

“I guess,” Yuzu says. “Still don’t feel like I earn it.”

“You will,” Javi says. “At Worlds, you’ll prove why you got the spot.”

Yuzu blinks. Even after all these years, it’s still a little weird when Javi does this, makes it sound like he’s more a friend than a rival. But he likes the sound of what Javi’s saying anyway. “Yeah. I will.”

Four Continents is a whirlwind. Yuzu takes notes, pictures, recordings, anything he can think of to capture the feeling of the rink. This is where he’s going to skate the Olympics, if all goes well, and he wants to be ready. The purple walls of the arena are soothing—Yuzu hopes they keep them next year. Standing at center ice, he envisions it all: the roar of the Olympic crowds, the five rings on the boards, Poohs raining down on the ice after a successful free skate. It’s so close, it’s like he can reach out and grab it.

Unfortunately, victory at Four Continents is a little harder to attain. It’s not for lack of trying—Yuzu wants a Four Continents gold so badly, the way he wanted to capture all the Pokemon when he was a kid. He’s gotten silver here twice, but both of those were back when silver was still a pretty good result for him, and not a failure. He’s an adult now, surely he can win gold.

But Yuzu’s quad salchow betrays him, suddenly as treacherous as it was when he first learned it, and Nathan is as hungry for gold as he is, and with more quads. Yuzu fights hard, improvising jumps when he misses them in a desperate attempt to recover lost points. But in the end, it’s not quite enough.

“I wanted gold,” he whines to Shoma, who is sitting next to him in the green room.

“Well, I wanted silver,” Shoma says. “Anyway, we all gave it our best.”

“Yeah,” Yuzu says, unconvinced.

“Didn’t you get silver at the last Olympic test event?” Shoma points out. “Maybe it’s lucky for you.”

Yuzu cheers up almost instantly. “Yeah, maybe it’s like you get one higher placement than you got at the Olympic test event. Because I got gold, and Patrick got silver. So, I’ll win, you’ll get silver, and Nathan will get—what’s better than gold?”

“Satisfaction?” Shoma says. “Being a hero? I don’t know.”

“I guess we have to go get our dumb medals now,” Yuzu says. He’s mostly teasing at this point, trying to get Shoma to laugh instead of keeping to himself.

“We can switch if you really want,” Shoma says, sticking out his tongue.

“Never,” Yuzu says, dramatically flinging out one arm. “I will defend this silver to my death!”

He pokes Shoma in the ribs and is rewarded with a loud squeak, like a dog toy being stepped on. Yuzu cracks up, slapping his knee and tipping his head backwards. Shoma shoots him a dirty look, like Yuzu’s embarrassing him. This must be what having a little brother is like.

Maybe Javi is right, Yuzu wonders. Maybe it is better to be with people, to have fun, to let them in. Maybe he can make a little room for others, without losing his drive or his focus or his ability to win gold.

But when they hang the silver around his neck, all those thoughts go out of Yuzu’s head. He needs to do everything in his power to make sure this doesn't happen at Worlds this year. Or at the Olympics. Those are the most important things.

The days fly as Worlds approaches, Yuzu’s entire energy focused on preparing. He has to prove he deserved the spot, that he’s not just coasting on his success but is still working hard to be at the top. He has to get the title back.

It’s a relief to concentrate on skating again, to block the rest of the world out and pour himself completely into the work. There’s a purity of intention he hasn’t felt in a long time. He’s not worried about staying healthy, after a season of reasonable behavior under his belt. He’s not racking his brains for an answer on why he keeps timeskipping, or butting heads with Javi. He knows what he needs to do, and it’s all he’s doing. It’s the simplest way he knows how to live.

That doesn’t mean he’s completely confident. The quad salchow is still acting shifty, and the zero-percent success rate of his quad sal-triple toe in the free skate is giving him nightmares. His asthma acts up a few weeks before Worlds, a reminder that his body could give out at any time, for no reason in particular.

But despite all this, his hunger is sharp. He knows what he wants, and he’s going to go after it. And anyone who stands in his way will be sorry.

Yuzu lands in Helsinki on a cold, sunny afternoon, the brisk air chasing away the jet lag. The first few practices take place in a rink the volunteers call “the cave.” It’s built into the rock under the arena, and features a low, geometric ceiling, pristine sound, and almost no audience. It’s perfect. Yuzu spends the first practice daydreaming about building his own private rink exactly like this.

But on the day of the short program, it feels like all the practice was in vain. All it takes is one bobbled landing, one moment of hesitation, and his combination is invalidated. He tries to shine in the step sequence, but it’s not enough to make up for the points he squandered. Points he was losing even before he started skating, apparently—when his scores come up, he sees a 1-point deduction for a late start. He must have taken a little too long at the boards without noticing. He doesn’t even break a hundred.

Meanwhile, Javi skates a sharp, gorgeous short program, moving powerfully across the ice. He doesn’t put a foot wrong, landing clean jumps that cut like daggers. His score is huge, as close to Yuzu’s record as anyone’s ever gotten. As Javi sits in the kiss and cry, Yuzu can see in his eyes that he’s already thinking about a third straight gold. 

No one else touches Javi’s score. But when the dust settles, Yuzu’s all the way down in fifth. This is the first Worlds in ages where he’s been completely healthy, with ample practice time under his belt. And apparently that doesn’t mean shit. One little mental block about his sal, and suddenly his medal hopes are speeding out of reach. 

There’s a full day between the short and the free. Twenty-four hours for Yuzu to figure out what went wrong, and how to fix it. He has to start right away if he wants to have a chance.

The only good thing about being in fucking fifth is he doesn’t have to do a press conference when he’s feeling this awful. He gives a few quotes to the journalists following him like hungry dogs before vanishing to his room.

Yuzu gives himself five minutes to lie on the bed and mope. This isn’t like Four Continents, where the sting of silver can be lessened with a good complaining session and a plan to do better at the next competition. This is Worlds, the most important thing he does all year, and he can’t stomach the thought of leaving without gold. He pulls his iPad out of his suitcase and searches for video of his short program.

But after watching it three times in a row, Yuzu feels worse than ever. In the video, his desperation is palpable, his need to win the strongest energy that his program emits. He sees a man grasping at straws, trying to hang onto something that’s passing him by. The error on the salchow is fixable, but they’ve all been fixable, and yet somehow he hasn’t fixed them. The cheery music mocks him. So much for trying to punch a higher floor.

Before bed that night, Yuzu tries to picture the perfect quad sal, with a beautiful running edge that lets him add the triple toe with ease. But all he sees is his leg buckling, his blade wobbling, a pop into a triple. He’s doomed.

The next morning, Yuzu is supposed to meet the rest of Team Cricket so they can head to practice together. But he’s up early, and ends up in the lobby a full hour ahead of schedule, pacing and fidgeting. He can’t shake the feeling that this practice, like everything else he’s tried, will just make him feel hopeless. Maybe he’d be better off staying in bed all day.

To Yuzu’s surprise, Javi shows up in the lobby fifteen minutes early, espresso in hand.

“I should have known there is no way I can ever be more early than you,” Javi says, draping himself on the chair next to Yuzu.

Yuzu shrugs. “Get up too early, so I come here to wait instead.” He doesn’t want to be a jerk, but he’s not really in the mood to talk to Javi right now. Javi has so much less to worry about today. 

Javi looks over at him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m in fifth!” Yuzu snaps. He takes a deep breath. “Sorry. No.”

“It’s okay,” Javi says. “You’re not so far down. Only ten points.”

Yuzu peers skeptically at Javi. “You going to tell me I can beating you again?”

“You can,” Javi says. “You’ve done it before.”

“Not for two year!” Yuzu says. “And not with bad sal.”

“Your sal’s not bad,” Javi says. “I should know.”

“I can’t land it,” Yuzu says. “And I can’t do combo. So, bad.”

Javi shakes his head. “You don’t suddenly become bad at salchows. You just need to stop thinking so much.”

Yuzu sighs, heavy and dramatic. If he had a hundred yen for every time someone’s told him not to think so much, he’d never have to do another commercial again. “You don’t help.”

“Sorry,” Javi says, looking abashed. He puts his arm around Yuzu and squeezes gently, once. “I’m sorry you’re feeling like this.”

Yuzu lets himself lean into Javi for just a moment. Then he straightens up. Javi is still his rival.

“Why you try to help me?” Yuzu demands. “You are first. Don’t you want three golds?”

“Of course I do,” Javi says. “But I don’t want you to just give up.”

“I’m not,” Yuzu protests, but Javi’s not wrong. He’s been thinking about a loss as all but inevitable. That’s a self-fulfilling prophecy—when you accept your loss before it’s already happened, you make it happen.

“Remember when we talked on the phone this summer?” Javi says. “Remember how I told you I wanted a rematch?”

Yuzu nods.

“Well, I still want that,” Javi says. “We’re both healthy, we can both be at the top of our game. If I’m going to win again, I don’t want it to be easy. It’s not going to feel like a championship if I win just because you crash and burn. I want to beat you at your very best.”

“You can’t do that,” Yuzu says, before he can stop himself. He doesn’t want to be rude to Javi. It’s just—Yuzu’s better.

Javi doesn’t seem offended, thankfully. “Oh yeah? You seem awfully sure about that.”

“I am sure,” Yuzu says. “If we both skate best, I will win.”

“I guess we’ll see tomorrow,” Javi says.

“Yeah,” Yuzu says, firmly. He’s going to do a hundred quad sals in practice today, just to _prove_ he can do them better than Javi. He’s—

It comes to him, suddenly, what Javi’s just done, and how easily Yuzu took the bait.

“You trick me!” Yuzu accuses. “You trick me into being okay. I hate you.” He pouts exaggeratedly.

Javi just laughs. “You’ll thank me tomorrow when we’re both on the podium.”

The rest of the team arrives just then. Brian looks startled to see them both there already. “Ready to go?” he asks.

“Yes!” Yuzu exclaims, hopping up from his seat.

Brian smiles quizzically at him. “Feeling better today?”

“Little bit,” Yuzu says. “I think I can do it.”

“Me too,” Brian says.

Yuzu doesn’t end up doing the hundred quad sals after all, because Brian’s idea is to have him run choreography and only train the jumps through images, which makes a frustrating amount of sense to Yuzu. If he pops the sal or falls in practice, that’s one more bad image in his mind to counteract the good. So he runs through steps and spins until he feels like a blade, sharpened for a single purpose.

“You’re ready,” Brian tells him at the end of the session. “Get a good rest so you can give it your all tomorrow. And don’t you dare watch the short program again.”

“I won’t,” Yuzu moans. And he doesn’t. He visualizes the free before bed, every jump perfect. Then he gets into bed and uses his ultimate trick for clearing his mind: he pictures an ice rink being created, step-by-step. One layer of water freezing, then another. He slows it down in his imagination so he can see the crystals form and stick together. Each one is beautiful, a perfect tiny sculpture.

It works every time, even against the worst of his earthquake flashbacks. Yuzu’s fears about the free skate are no match for its power. He falls asleep seeing only the ice, smooth and blank.

He awakens next morning with a strange eerie calm, like the eye of a storm. He gets dressed automatically, forces breakfast down, gathers his belongings. It’s time.

The rest of his team can see that he’s in the zone, and keep their distance. His mom fist-bumps him, her little signal of affection when he’s too focused for hugs. Brian gives him a firm nod. Tracy looks quietly pleased, but keeps her smile to herself.

Even Javi doesn’t do more than flash a quick grin. He’s focused too, that competitive fire that flared between them yesterday shining in his eyes. It burns through Yuzu, suddenly, how much he wants this—not just to win, but to win against Javi with both at their best. To go head-to-head, trading clean skates and coming out on top. He knows Javi wants the same thing, and that just makes him want it even more.

Javi’s free skate’s been a mess all season, and they haven’t shared any podiums yet, which feels wrong to Yuzu. He has other competitors, but only Javi can truly be his rival. The others are too young or too old, still coming into their skills or seeing their performance taper off, all jumps or all artistry. But Javi bridges both worlds, just as Yuzu does. And Yuzu wants the battle they deserve, the one where they both give their all and show the pinnacle of their talents. He’ll come out on top, of course, but it’ll be a good fight.

Yuzu lets the hunger pool in his belly, saving it to fuel his performance. He takes one last look at Javi before giving himself completely to preparation. The pre-competition routines steady and occupy him, helping him stay in that place where nothing can touch him. 

The six-minute warmup comes almost before he’s expecting it. It must look sloppy to everyone else, his messy jumps and lazy strides, but Yuzu doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter what he lands or doesn’t land here. The only thing that matters is the free skate itself.

He’s shaking Brian’s hand and pushing off from the boards almost before they call his name. At center ice, he breathes in deeply, rolling his shoulders back as he lets it out slowly. The first notes of the piano ring out, and he reaches out for what he knows is within his grasp. Today, he won’t go home without that gold.

There’s nowhere to hide in this free skate. Unlike Seimei, he’s not playing a character; there’s no one’s spirit he can summon to give him the strength for his ideal performance. He has to bring everything forth from his own self.

So Yuzu lets go, just a little, of his tight hold on the need for perfection. He pictures the empty rink at the Cricket Club this past summer, just him and Tracy gliding to Bach. The blades, the music, himself, and the ice—all one.

_I love skating,_ he thinks, and springs into the quad loop. He comes down lightly, like a bird landing on a branch. The flow is smooth, down to the other end of the rink for a quad sal. He barely feels the ice under his feet. It’s like he’s flying, the way he always wanted to as a child.

Or maybe he’s a river, he thinks as he swings his leg around into the camel spin. A breeze. The leaves of the trees that rustle outside his bedroom window. Swift and strong, yet gentle and peaceful. 

When he and Shae-Lynn made this free skate, they talked for a long time about his skating career, from the very first day he wobbled onto the ice with Saya to the present. It was fun to tell her old memories he had of skating lessons, the reasons why he loves certain jumps, the elements he dreams of adding in the future. It’s what he thinks about during the step sequence, trying to make it feel like that story he told. How he’s grown, where he’s going.

The music builds as Yuzu gathers speed. No thoughts, no fears, just confidence and freedom. He takes off.

As soon as he’s in the air, he knows he’s going to do it right for once. Quad sal. Triple toe. For the first time all year, clean and perfect in the free. The audience screams.

Yuzu allows himself a little breath of relief. His heart fills with assurance, solid and warm. The last of his nerves disappear. If Yuzu knows himself—and he does—the rest of this program is going to be perfect.

Usually, the second half involves him scrambling, throwing in combinations on the fly to make up for whatever points he lost by messing up the sal. But not this time. Instead, he’s like a wave, building and peaking. Quad toe. The two triple axel combos. His spins. All culminating in the choreo sequence, crashing on the shoreline. After he lands the triple lutz, he pumps his fists, as elegantly as he can. No pops, no falls. All jumps landed.

The piece ends quietly, a moment of delicacy to finish off the program. The crowd’s so loud that Yuzu can barely hear the last notes. He knows them in his heart, though. He brings his hands to his chest as he exits his final spin, spreading them out to the audience. _For you. With you. Thank you._

All around the arena, people leap to their feet. Yuzu raises his fist in the air. Forget injuries and meltdowns and messy jumps. This is who he is. And no one can stop him, not even himself.

Brian and Tracy are waiting for him by the boards with open arms and wide eyes. He collapses on them, suddenly exhausted. They hold him up, the way they always do.

They sit together in the kiss and cry. Yuzu feels a current of anticipation run through him.

“That was just beautiful,” Brian says, voice full of pride.

“Finally, I worked hard,” Yuzu tells them, and they laugh, but he means it. For the first time all year, he feels like he gave it his all, like the work he put in paid off.

He’s in the middle of trying to explain to Brian the weird calmness he felt, almost like a lack of energy, when the announcer calls for the scores.

“Just trust your training,” Brian says. “And you trained hard.”

It’s what Brian told him last year, but this time Yuzu believes him. “Yeah.”

Then the score pops up on the screen. It’s stunningly huge. It’s—it’s a new world record. Yuzu’s mouth drops open. He hears Tracy on the other side of him muttering, “Oh my god.”

He’s well over three hundred. He’s in first place. Yuzu raises his arms above his head and lets out a yell of triumph. He knew he could do it, and he did. The other five men in the group might chase him, but they won’t catch him. He _did it._

His throat feels tight, and his vision is swimming, and shit—“I’m not crying,” he says, trying to ward it off.

“I am,” Brian says. “Well, almost.”

“I’m _not_ ,” Yuzu insists, taking deep breaths, and it mostly works. By the time he enters the green room, where Mikhail, Jason, and Kevin pat him on the back and exclaim their congratulations, he’s pretty much calmed down. He sits in an armchair, pulls out his sports drink, and settles in to watch everybody else. This is going to be fun.

He feels awful for Nathan, ending Worlds so messily after his great performance at Four Continents, and gives him a big hug when he comes backstage. Boyang looks good, strong, that quad lutz that reaches the stratosphere still making Yuzu jealous. Maybe next year is the year he’ll break out his own quad lutz and join the rest of them. 

Patrick’s messy too, which he can’t afford to be with his lower technical content, but Yuzu still feels weirdly fond of his free skate. Maybe it’s the joy of his own triumph making him feel generous, or maybe it’s just that he and Patrick have the same theme: a journey.

Shoma is amazing, and Yuzu starts getting nervous, then excited. Even though Yuzu’s still on top, Shoma’s score was really close, like he was answering the challenge Yuzu threw down. It’s nice having a kohei, a little brother, but it’d be even nicer to have a kohei who threatened for the top sometimes, someone Yuzu could truly battle it out with.

Finally, it’s the moment Yuzu’s been waiting for. Javi. He leans forward, hands folded in anticipation. This is going to be good.

Except—it isn’t. Javi falters, almost from the very beginning. Yuzu watches in confusion as Javi stumbles and bluffs his way through a program that just isn’t working. He’s been having problems with the free all season, the way Yuzu has, but Yuzu assumed Javi would put it together here too. He thought Javi would bring his all, the beautifully strong jumps and the upright spins. What happened to their rematch?

Yuzu winces as Javi falls on his quad sal. He looks tired when he picks himself back up, like he wishes the program were over already. He does his best to fight through, selling the step sequence with all his might, but it just isn’t there today. When the music ends, he slumps forward sadly, defeat written all over his face. 

Yuzu’s heart aches. “So strange!” he exclaims. He doesn’t realize he’s said it out loud until Shoma looks over, puzzled. “Javi’s usually so good,” he says in explanation.

Shoma nods. “I guess that means we’re the podium.”

Yuzu swallows hard. Shoma’s right—when Javi’s scores come up, he’s sixth in the free skate, fourth overall. Javi won’t even get a medal in consolation. Yuzu feels lucky, suddenly, that his disastrous Worlds performances over the past two years didn’t knock him off the podium.

And now he’s back on top. He takes it in fully for the first time—he won. He said he was going to win, and he won. With a new world record, no less. It doesn’t erase what he did in the short, but it does ensure that pretty much no one but him will remember it, which is almost as good. He raises one finger to the sky as he bends over to put his skates back on. _I’m the champion._

Yuzu stands up and leaves the green room. But when he pushes back the curtain separating the backstage area from the rest of the rink, he stops dead. There’s Javi, arms full of flowers, head down and shoulders slumping. Brian and Tracy trail behind him.

Yuzu feels like the worst person in the entire world. Javi lost, and he won, and even though Yuzu wanted to win, he never wanted Javi to be sad. He hadn’t let himself think about this part yet. In his dreams, Javi lost like a champion, giving his all but falling just short of Yuzu’s performance, and wore silver proudly. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, and now he doesn’t know what to do.

But Javi opens his arms anyway, and Yuzu walks into them, twining his own arms around Javi’s neck and burying his face in Javi’s shoulder.

“I told you last year, remember?” Javi says, rubbing Yuzu’s back. “You work hard, you can get it.”

“Yeah,” Yuzu says vaguely. This is all backwards. He won, and Javi lost, and it’s still Javi comforting him. He could try for a hundred years, and he’d never be as nice as Javi is. He squeezes Javi tightly one last time.

Brian and Tracy hug him too, and it makes him tear up again, grateful for everything they’ve done to help him. He has to wipe his eyes as he’s hustled away to an interview.

Then it’s the medal ceremony, and Yuzu forgets about everything except the gold around his neck, the notes of _Kimigayo_ as the flags are raised. He’s been World Champion once before, technically, but this is his first time he’s experienced the win himself. It’s an incredible feeling. He can’t stop smiling as he skates a victory lap, waving his flowers at the fans screaming and chanting his name. He goes around the rink an extra time, just to soak it all in.

Backstage again, it’s a flurry of reporters, turning to look at Yuzu, Shoma and Boyang as they enter. Yuzu spots Javi in one corner, hemmed in by recorders and microphones. Something surges up inside him, a feeling he can’t name. Acting on impulse, he hurries over to Javi, going as fast as he can while still wearing skates.

The Spanish journalists look surprised to see him, as does Javi, but Yuzu’s not paying attention to them. He takes the gold medal off his own neck and puts it on Javi’s, squeezing Javi’s shoulders.

“There,” he says. “Now we both win gold.”

Javi’s eyes soften, crinkling up at the corners as he grins. “Thank you.”

They hug tightly, so close Yuzu can feel the medal digging into his chest from where it rests on Javi’s. His heart feels like it’s overflowing. He doesn’t want to let go of Javi, doesn’t want to go back to the journalists and the press conferences. He just wants to stay here, where they’ve both won somehow. Yuzu’s dreamed and planned for this gold medal all year. But in this moment, if Javi asked Yuzu to keep it, Yuzu would let him.

When they pull apart, Yuzu feels off-balance. He’s not sure what to do now, how to end this moment. Javi looks fond and a little flustered, and Yuzu feels like there’s something else that should happen, but he has no idea what.

While Yuzu’s still standing there like he’s grown roots, Javi takes the medal off and hands it back, squeezing Yuzu’s hand as he presses the gold disc into his palm.

“Thank you,” Javi says again. “That helps.”

Yuzu nods. He notices the crowd of journalists around them then, phones and cameras poised for photos. Ms. Kobayashi is hovering on the periphery, looking frantic, like Yuzu just busted her carefully crafted media schedule. “Think I have to go now.”

Javi smiles. “I’ll see you later.”

Ms. Kobayashi has some strong words for Yuzu about how he’s holding everyone up, and how he can’t just stop whenever he wants unless he also wants entitled journalists in his face 24/7, but Yuzu’s not really listening to her. He’s still feeling the pressure of Javi’s arms around him, the way Javi’s eyes lit up when Yuzu put the medal on him. The last two Worlds come back to him, the way Javi took care of him. Did he give that much? Or did he fall short again, the way he so often does? How is it possible that he’s World Champion now, and all he can think about is whether he cheered up Javi? 

Yuzu does the press conference automatically, not really thinking about his responses. Instead, he’s still thinking about Javi, and how wrong it felt not to have him on the podium too. Yuzu hadn’t realized how much he’d been attached to the idea of both of them doing their best until it hadn’t happened. And now he’s upset, unmoored, even though he broke a world record.

This is ridiculous, Yuzu decides by the end of the press conference. It’s one thing to wish Javi well, to be friends—friendly rivals. But he can’t get this affected by what Javi does, or how Javi feels. There’s nothing he can do about that, and it shouldn’t matter this much anyway. He thinks about the moment where he almost gave his gold to Javi and shudders. That’s not him at all.

By the time Yuzu gets back to his hotel room, a few things have become clear to him. He’s gotten way too entangled lately, linking himself and Javi together in a way that’s not helpful to either of them. He doesn’t want to back off the way he did last season, where he hurt Javi’s feelings, but he also can’t be this caught up during the Olympics. What if Yuzu can’t skate his best because he’s worrying about Javi? What if Javi finishes off the podium again and Yuzu can’t enjoy his own win?

For all Javi’s sociability, all his light, easy friendship, Yuzu’s pretty sure he wouldn’t mind retreating in the face of the Olympic season too. Both of them want something they can only get at Pyeongchang, and everything they do from here on out will either help or hurt them. 

An idea dawns on Yuzu: maybe they should practice separately next season. That way, they can each focus on themselves without worrying about the other person. He could take the morning, Javi could take the afternoon, and it’d probably be easier on Brian and Tracy too. And if they see each other outside of practices, they can still be friendly. The more Yuzu thinks about it, the more it seems like a win for everyone.

He puts a reminder in his phone before he goes to bed. Tomorrow, he’ll talk to Brian. Some of the uneasiness that’s followed him since the win dissipates. As soon as his head hits the pillow, he’s asleep.

****  
Yuzu’s eyes snap open because his heart is pounding, a sickening swirl of adrenaline and pain coursing through his body. He sees the rafters of an arena, all steel girders and hanging lights. He closes his eyes again, desperately hoping he’s dreaming, but when he opens them a second time the rafters and lights are still there. _No. No no no._ How could this be happening?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kimigayo is the formal name for the Japanese national anthem.
> 
> See you Monday....


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Times are tough, but a trouble shared is a trouble halved. And even on the darkest days, every cloud has a gold lining. (Not silver. Silver is unacceptable.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note: this chapter contains extensive but non-graphic descriptions of injury and recovery.

Yuzu breathes heavily, feeling the cold ice underneath him. He tries to get up and immediately winces. He’s hurt himself somehow. He looks down at his body, trying to see how bad it is. He doesn’t see blood, and his head seems fine, but his right leg is twisted under him, and when he moves to a sitting position, a sharp pain shoots through his ankle. Sprained again, then, or worse.

He’s wearing his grey and black practice gear, so at least he’s not performing. He gets to his knees slowly, trying to see if he can stand. The boards say NHK TROPHY 2017. Six months in the future, then. Not the Olympics, thankfully, but far too close for comfort if anything is really wrong with him.

Yuzu manages to stand, gingerly putting his right foot down on the ice and testing it out. He strokes along slowly for a little while, does a couple spins. It’s not broken, but it hurts like hell.

Yuzu skates over to the boards, where Pooh-san rests near Kikuchi and…Ghislain, not Brian, which unsettles him even more. Ms. Kobayashi is hovering behind them. All three of them look worried, brows furrowed and eyes intent on Yuzu.

“How is it?” Kikuchi asks.

“Not great,” Yuzu whispers. “It hurts a lot.”

Kikuchi nods solemnly. “Let’s get you backstage and check it out. Better safe than sorry.”

“Yeah,” Yuzu agrees. He has to take care of himself, that’s what he has to do to stop the timeskipping. Except—except he already realized this, and he _did_ take care of himself, and he’s still waking up in the future. What’s he doing wrong?

Ghislain shoos away some prying cameramen from Asahi and ushers Yuzu to a folding chair backstage. Kikuchi takes his skate off and examines the ankle, gently shifting it back and forth. It hurts when he moves it in pretty much every direction, and Yuzu starts to panic. Something must be really wrong.

“It seems like just a sprain,” Kikuchi says, voice low and even. “A pretty nasty one, but none of the bones seem out of place. You’d need a scan to see if there’s any ligament damage, which we obviously can’t do here.”

“What do you think about the competition?” asks Ms. Kobayashi, ever practical.

Kikuchi looks up at him. “Yuzuru? What do you think?”

Yuzu has no idea what to think. He wants to skate, he always wants to skate, but everything’s about the Olympics this season. He doesn't want to jeopardize his chances if he can. And then there’s the matter of having no idea what he’s doing in the future. If staying healthy wasn’t the lesson, what was it?

“I’ll rest tonight, and then we’ll see,” Yuzu says. “Maybe it’ll be better in the morning.” Kikuchi looks a little skeptical, but everyone else nods.

“We won’t make any kind of statement until you’re ready,” Ms. Kobayashi says, and Yuzu smiles gratefully.

“Let me give Yuzu a little more treatment for his ankle and then I’ll take him back to the hotel,” Kikuchi says. “There are some rooms in the lower level where I can treat him more privately.”

Kikuchi helps Yuzu out of his chair, taking Yuzu’s weight so his right foot doesn’t have to touch the floor. They limp slowly down the hallway, Ghislain following with the bags.

There’s a room at the end of the hall that looks like an old storage room, although there’s nothing in there except a couple of chairs. Kikuchi sets Yuzu down in one of them, closes the door, and spreads a mat onto the floor.

“Can you get down here?” Kikuchi asks. “Or do you need help?”

Yuzu shifts a little, trying to raise himself up, and his ankle complains about it. “Help me.”

Kikuchi squats beside the chair and picks Yuzu up under his knees, the way he used to when Yuzu was a kid and hurt himself every other week. He staggers over to the mat and sets Yuzu down as gently as he can.

“You’re a lot heavier than you used to be,” Kikuchi jokes. “When you were a kid it was like holding a pile of towels.” He unzips his bag and takes out tape, ointment, scissors, arranging them in a neat line. “Either that or I’m getting old.” He takes Yuzu’s sock off, gently and slowly rolling it down.

It doesn’t hurt, not really, but somehow it’s too much for Yuzu, all of a sudden. He bursts into tears, his breath coming in little squeaks and pants.

“Did I hurt you?” Kikuchi says, stopping immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Yuzu sobs out.

“Where are you supposed to be?”

Yuzu has to swallow hard a few times before he can get the words out. “My hotel room in Helsinki on the day of Worlds gala practice.”

“Oh, no,” Kikuchi says softly. “I didn’t know you had skipped again. Your future self is really putting you in hard situations, isn’t he?”

“What did I miss?” Yuzu says. Maybe if Kikuchi talks a while, he can stop crying so hard.

“Well, you weren’t feeling very well when we got here, but you were feeling a little better today, until you fell on the lutz,” Kikuchi says. “You’re not still sick, are you?”

Yuzu feels his own forehead. “I don’t think so. That’s kind of embarrassing, that I fell on a triple lutz.”

“Quad lutz,” Kikuchi says.

Yuzu gasps. “So I added it, then.”

“Of course you did,” Kikuchi says. “You started working on it at World Team Trophy.”

Yuzu’s heart hurts a little. Why does his future self always skip him past the fun stuff? “Have I landed it in competition?”

“First time you tried it.” Kikuchi smiles. “At Rostelecom. You got your highest score for a first Grand Prix.”

“I still got silver, though, didn’t I?”

Kikuchi laughs. “What else? Nathan beat you by a hair. But you were happy enough about the lutz.”

“Sounds like this year has been going well,” Yuzu says. A little tendril of bitterness wraps around his heart.

“It has,” Kikuchi says. “You even set a new world record for the short program at the Autumn Classic. One hundred and twelve.” He looks amused.

“What’s funny about that?” Yuzu demands.

“Your free skate was—a little messy,” Kikuchi says, pursing his lips. “Javi ended up with the gold. But it was understandable. You decided to downgrade some of your jumps because your knee had been achy and you didn’t want to make it worse. It threw your timing off.”

“Oh.” So his other self had been cautious with his health, wasn’t being reckless when he didn’t need to be. He had learned the lesson he thought he was supposed to learn. And yet, here he is. The bitterness rises, along with a mounting frustration. “I just don’t get it.”

“What don’t you get?” Kikuchi’s voice is calm, stable. Infuriating.

“This whole thing!” Yuzu bursts out. “I thought I figured out why I kept skipping. Every time I got hurt and pretended like it didn’t happen, I woke up in the future. But I _fixed_ that! And it still didn’t work.” The tears are coming back now, leaking through the anger. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Kikuchi is quiet for a while, his face thoughtful. Yuzu sniffles.

“Do you remember the first time you skipped?” Kikuchi asks. “You were worried you were supposed to stop an earthquake. Do you remember what I said to you?”

Yuzu thinks about it for a second. “That—that it wouldn’t be something I couldn’t control. It had to be something I could personally change.”

“I know it seems like this isn’t true, but you can’t control injuries as much as you think you can,” Kikuchi says. “The body is fragile. It breaks down, it wears out. Even people who are careful get hurt. Injuries are as much luck as anything else.” He takes Yuzu’s ankle in his hand, rubbing the soothing ointment over the swelling. The ache recedes, just a little.

“It’s not just getting hurt,” Yuzu protests. “I know I can’t control that, but I thought my problem was skating through the injuries. That’s something I could stop, and then it would stop the skips.”

“Hmm,” Kikuchi says. He starts winding the bandage around Yuzu’s ankle. “I don’t think so.”

“What? Why not?”

“I’m thinking about the time when you were nine and Coach Nanami let you start practicing triples,” Kikuchi says.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Yuzu lets out an exasperated sigh.

“You fell on a triple toe loop and sprained your ankle,” Kikuchi reminds him. “But you didn’t tell anyone you were hurt, you just got up and kept skating, until your ankle gave out and you fell over.”

“Oh, I remember that,” Yuzu says. “My mom was so mad. She told me if I wanted to skate, I had to learn to stop when it hurt too much.”

“It was your right ankle you sprained,” Kikuchi says. “If you sprain an ankle once, it’s never quite the same. And this poor kid is going on its fifth or sixth sprain.” He pats Yuzu’s ankle affectionately.

“So what’s your point?” Yuzu says. “That I was doomed from the start?”

Kikuchi shakes his head. “As long as I’ve known you, you’ve been pushing through your injuries. If that was the problem, don’t you think you would have started timeskipping earlier?”

Yuzu sits there, stunned. All this time, and that never occurred to him.

“Now, don’t get me wrong, you should definitely be more cautious about your injuries,” Kikuchi says hastily. “But timeskipping starts and ends with a choice. Maybe you’ll find your answer if you think about what you were choosing when it started. Something you did then, and all the other times, but not before.”

Yuzu nods. He still has no idea what that could possibly be, but at least he has somewhere to start. 

“What do other people say about this when you talk to them?” Kikuchi asks. “Do they have any theories that make sense? Maybe you can start there, too.”

Yuzu’s heart pounds just thinking about other people knowing. “You’re the only person who knows I skip in time.”

“Really?” Kikuchi seems alarmed. “Not even your mother?”

“I don’t want to freak her out! And anyone else, they’d think I was crazy. Or I’d have to explain it in English, and that’d be way too hard.”

Kikuchi looks skeptical.

“I don’t want people to know this about me,” Yuzu says. “At least not before I’ve figured it out. Maybe I’ll tell her when it’s not happening anymore.”

“Didn’t your mother used to tell you stories about time travel?” Kikuchi asks. “I bet she wouldn’t be as alarmed as you think.”

Yuzu shakes his head frantically. “I can’t give her one more reason to worry about me. I hurt her too much as it is.”

Kikuchi gives Yuzu a look he can’t quite identify, some mixture of sad and fond and exasperated. “All right, you don’t have to. But maybe you could—find some other way of talking about what’s going on. Say you’re trying to understand yourself better, or something.”

Yuzu does his best not to roll his eyes at how cheesy that sounds. He’s doing fine understanding himself, anyway. “I guess.”

“There are a lot of good, smart, caring people in your life,” Kikuchi says. “All I’m saying is, I think it’d be a shame not to let them help you, if you need help.”

“Yeah,” Yuzu says, faintly. He knows Kikuchi’s right. It’s just—hard.

“Speaking of your mother, we better get you back to the hotel.” Kikuchi stands up. “I think I know where I can get you a pair of crutches so I don’t have to carry you all the way.”

Yuzu’s heart sinks a little. “I’m not going to be better tomorrow, am I.”

“Probably not,” Kikuchi says, matter-of-factly. “But you can still wait until then to decide what to do. I’ll be right back.” He leaves the room, closing the door lightly behind him.

Yuzu slumps forward, head in his hands. He feels like he could wait a week and still not know the right thing to do. His ankle hurts so much, and he’s exhausted even though he barely practiced.

He heaves a sigh and digs in his jacket pocket for his phone. Maybe if he reads some stuff about how the ankle works, he can figure out a way to skate on it without hurting it more.

The first thing he sees when he pulls out his phone is a message from Javi:

_I saw you fell, are you ok???_

Yuzu bites down hard on his lip. He’s not going to get misty-eyed because Javi asked him a simple nice question. _no, ankle is bad sprained_ he types and sends before he can really think.

The messages from Javi come quickly:

_:( feel better and rest good_  
_and don’t feel like u have to skate! we want to fight for olympics not god_  
_*GPF sorry my phone is always changing how i’m spelling_  
_anyway_

The noise that comes out of Yuzu’s mouth is more like the creak of a door than a laugh, but it feels good, the best he’s felt since he opened his eyes and saw the arena ceiling. He sends Javi a laughing emoji.

Javi responds with a selfie of himself and Effie, Javi looking sleepy and Effie looking like she wants no part in these proceedings. The attached message says _we support you!_

Yuzu looks at the picture for a while, studying the stubble on Javi’s face and the fur around Effie’s ears, until the door opens and Kikuchi comes back with the crutches.

“Ready to go?” he asks. Yuzu nods, reluctantly putting his phone away. Kikuchi helps him up. Crutches are annoying, but Yuzu gets the hang of them quickly, and he can go a lot faster on them than he could walking on an injured ankle. He feels marginally better, buoyed by the messages from Javi and the easing of pain that comes from not having to put his foot on the ground.

It lasts until Yuzu gets to the hotel room, so similar to the one where he fell asleep in Helsinki and yet worlds away. He feels like he’s back at square one. No idea why he’s in the future, no sense of where to go next, injury-ridden and confused and alone. Somehow, no matter how hard he tries, this is always where he ends up.

There’s a faint whirring sound, and then the click of a lock. Yuzu’s mom opens the door. She doesn’t say anything, just slips off her shoes, then heads for the bed and climbs on next to Yuzu. Yuzu leans his head on her shoulder, and she puts her arm around him. They sit like that for a long while, his mom gently rubbing his arm while his eyes brim and his throat stings. 

“Mama,” Yuzu says, after a while.

“Mmm.”

“I don’t know what to do.” It feels like an admission of defeat. Yuzu wants to take it back almost as soon as he says it.

“It’s okay if you withdraw,” his mom says. “We can go back to Toronto, help you heal and prepare for the Olympics. I know that’s the most important goal.”

“I probably have to withdraw.” Yuzu says what he’s known, in a shadowy corner of his mind, since Kikuchi examined his ankle. “I can’t really move it. And Kikuchi didn’t think it would get better overnight.”

His mom hugs him a little tighter. “Poor baby.”

“I don’t want to deal with all the media statements and stuff until tomorrow,” Yuzu says. He’s exhausted just thinking about it. “But—“

“I understand,” his mom says. “It sounds like you know what to do after all.”

“It’s not just that. It’s—“ Yuzu sighs. “I think there’s something I have to do differently, in my life. But I don’t know what it is.”

“Are you sure?” his mom asks.

“Yeah. I think it’s important, too.”

“Well. If it’s that important, eventually it’ll come to you. You just have to try the best you can, no matter what happens, and keep your eyes open.” His mom pats his shoulder. “You’re so thoughtful, and you have such a sensitive heart, there’s no way you’ll keep missing it.”

“Ok.” _A sensitive heart._ It’s what his mom used to say, back in the days when he wanted her fairy tales to be real. Yuzu’s not so sure, now, that it’s such a good thing. But if it got him into this mess, maybe his sensitive heart can get him back out.

“We can still make a little visit home,” his mom says. “It’s probably better for your ankle if you wait a little before traveling.”

“Yeah, I want to do that,” Yuzu says. “Since I won’t be at the Final.” It makes his heart ache to think about it. He was counting on three competitions in Japan this year, three chances to skate for the fans who support him even though they barely see him, and to be with the family who gives him so much. Now two of them are gone in the blink of an eye.

“Don’t feel guilty about that,” his mom says, like she can read his mind. “All anyone wants is for you to be healthy and in good form at the Olympics. That’s what’s most important.”

Yuzu nods. He can feel more sadness approaching him, like rainclouds in the distance. The painkillers Kikuchi gave him are starting to wear off, and his ankle is twinging. He’s done with everything, suddenly. “I’m really tired.”

“Okay,” his mom says. “I’ll let you rest.” She kisses the side of his head. “Call me if you need me, okay?”

Yuzu sleeps fitfully that night, dreaming of falls through time. In the morning, he officially withdraws, and even though he knows it’s the right thing, he still cries when he tells Ghislain and Ms. Kobayashi. He can’t stand not skating. It feels wrong, to be leaving the venue just as everyone’s arriving. He does one on-camera interview even though he knows he looks terrible, hair unwashed and eyes a little puffy. When he’s done answering their questions ( _how bad is it? when are you coming back?_ ), he picks up his crutches and swings himself out to the van as fast as he can. He doesn’t look back.

****

Toronto in late November is cold and dismal, weather that flays you raw. From Yuzu’s bedroom window he can see the grey scaffolding of bare trees, their leaves rotting in clumps at the base of their trunks. He wears his bulky black parka and the green scarf his mom knitted when he leaves the house, even though he barely spends more than five minutes in the cold—he gets rides everywhere, to spare his ankle.

Not that he’s going much of anywhere. He visits the Cricket Club every day, but he spends far less time there than he usually does. After he gets physical therapy, and does whatever workout he can, and meets with Brian, there’s not much left to do. He can’t stand sitting in the lounge and watching everyone else skate when he’s stuck on land.

His ankle is healing as slowly as every other injury he’s had. Every couple days he gets it looked at, and whoever’s examining him clicks their tongue and furrows their brow, and Yuzu’s heart sinks a little further. No one’s talking about it, but Yuzu can tell Nationals are going to be a stretch, if not impossible. He doesn’t want to slip back into the numb, paralyzing fog that surrounded him the last time he was injured. But it’s hard, when even the weather is hopeless.

There’s one notable exception to all this despair: Brian. From the very first moment Yuzu limped into his office after returning to Toronto, Brian has been firmly, relentlessly hopeful on Yuzu’s behalf. He’s convinced that Yuzu’s Olympic chances are unchanged. That with careful strategy, a slow buildup of activity, and a focus on consistency rather than breaking records, Yuzu can overcome this injury and win a gold medal. Yuzu wants to believe him—feels like he has to believe him to succeed. But there’s a tiny seed of doubt digging its roots into his heart, spreading day by day.

December wears on and Yuzu still hasn’t returned to the ice. He finds himself in the lounge more and more often, waiting out bad weather. The bright white gleam of the rink through the big viewing windows is achingly enticing. Yuzu’s throat tightens as he watches the class running through stroking exercises and practicing jumps. He’s starting to worry that by the time he rejoins them, it’ll be too late.

One afternoon a snow squall blows in out of nowhere and Yuzu’s mom calls him after his massage, asking him to stay at the club for a while so she doesn’t have to drive through the storm. Yuzu stations himself in a big chair in the lounge, ankle propped up on an ottoman and homework spread out on a table. It feels good to focus on his classes for once. Solving a math problem doesn’t require a healthy ankle.

After a solid hour of hard work he takes a break, eating a snack and checking his phone. His gaze keeps drifting upwards, towards the rink, no matter how hard he tries to distract himself. Class appears to be finishing up, skaters leaving the ice and packing their bags. Tracy is in the middle of it all, smiling with her hands on her hips as she watches the hubbub.

There’s a rustling noise to Yuzu’s right and he turns to see what it is. Javi’s tossed his duffle bag to the ground and slumped into one of the armchairs, elbows on his thighs and head in his hands. He doesn’t seem to have noticed Yuzu.

“You okay?” Yuzu asks.

Javi startles, head popping up. The ever-present shadows under his eyes are a deeper shade of purple than usual. “Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was here.” He sighs.

“It’s fine, I’m taking study break,” Yuzu says. “You look—not good.”

Javi snorts, a sound like a laugh but with no real amusement in it. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

“Want to talk?” Yuzu hesitates. “Or hug?”

Javi stands up and moves closer, wedging himself on the ottoman where Yuzu’s resting his leg. “Actually, I could use your help, I think.”

“How?” Yuzu doesn’t mean to sound so incredulous. But with only one functioning ankle, he can’t help Javi with skating, and Yuzu’s not good at that many other things.

Javi looks down at his lap. “I—“ He stops, looking up and holding Yuzu’s gaze. “I need help being alone,” he finally blurts out.

Yuzu blinks. “Why? You have lot of friends. It’s good, right?”

“Miki and I broke up last month,” Javi says. “Long distance, it was too hard for us, and—she said it was like I was scattered, like I didn’t focus enough on one thing. I wasn’t focused for our relationship. And I realized that she was right.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Yuzu says.

Javi shrugs. “It is what it is.”

“But, Javi, I don’t know about being alone that way. I never date, so is always just—same thing.”

Javi chuckles, somewhere between amused and rueful. “I’ve been dumped before, I can get through it. That’s not what I meant.”

“What you mean?” Yuzu sits up a little straighter, like it’ll help him follow the conversation better.

“What Miki said about not focusing, it made me think about a lot of things,” Javi says. “I am very scattered. I don’t really concentrate that good. And it’s never affected my skating before, at least I don’t think so, but this is the Olympic season. I don't want to take any chances.”

“Mmm.” Yuzu gets that. The Olympic season is different. You need to be certain that what you’re doing is going to work.

“And you always are so focused, you always concentrate on skating. You just skate, and do homework, and go home. And so I thought maybe I should do that too, maybe I don’t need to go out for a while or stay up late talking to my friends. But—“ Javi sighs, heavy and deep. “It’s really hard. I don’t know how you do this all the time. You want to give me some secrets?”

Yuzu’s chest tightens. It’s awful, somehow, to think of bright, social Javi shutting everyone out to focus on skating. It doesn’t suit him at all. Javi doesn’t have anyone from his family here; besides the club, his friends are his only support. There’s no way he’ll make it to February if he holes up in his apartment with Effie as his sole companion.

Yuzu’s own life flashes before him as he sits there. Every time he’s built a wall higher, withdrawn further into himself, because he thought it would help him conquer his obstacles. And how it never works the way he think it will. How other people have always reached past his barriers and drawn him back out. Coach Nanami, his mom, Brian, Tracy. Javi. He can’t let Javi bury himself at the bottom of a pit and think it’s a strategy for winning.

Yuzu shakes his head. “No,” he tells Javi.

“It’s that top secret?” Javi’s trying to joke, but Yuzu can tell he’s a little hurt.

“It’s not good, what I’m doing,” Yuzu says. “You will be too sad.”

Javi furrows his brow.

Yuzu tries to explain, grasping at English. “We always need helping from people. You need—support. I’m bad at talk to people, you know that, but people helping me still. Everyone from Cricket, and Mama. I'm having so much bad time when I get hurt and just—ignore everyone. It doesn’t make me not hurting faster.”

Javi’s listening intently, eyes fixed on Yuzu’s face.

“You are so good at people, it will be more bad for you than me,” Yuzu says. “You needing focus, maybe don’t play video games. Or not watch TV. I don’t know. I’m thinking about, no new earphones until I win gold. Something like that.”

Javi’s quiet for a long time. His hand is on Yuzu’s good knee, stroking absentmindedly back and forth. Yuzu’s not sure he’s doing it on purpose.

“Thank you,” Javi says at last, voice rough. He clears his throat. “I like that idea, no video games until after the Olympics. Will you do it with me?”

“Fine.” Yuzu walked right into this one. “I guess so.”

“It was your idea,” Javi teases. “You can’t be mad about your idea.”

“Javi is too sneaky.” Yuzu fakes a pout.

Javi laughs, the first happy sound Yuzu’s heard from him all afternoon. “It’s all part of my evil plan.”

Yuzu’s phone goes off in his pocket. “Oh, my mom is on her way.”

“I’ll walk you to the door.” Javi helps Yuzu gather his strewn papers before shouldering his own duffle bag and heading for the club entrance, walking slowly to match Yuzu’s careful pace.

“See you tomorrow,” Yuzu says. “We focus hard.”

Javi hugs Yuzu, quick and tight. “Sounds good.“ He steps back. “You know, you’re pretty good at people too.”

Yuzu shakes his head. “No. But I’m trying more hard.”

“That’s what matters,” Javi says. He pulls up the hood of his parka. “See you tomorrow.”

Once Yuzu’s back in his apartment, he digs under his bed for a storage bin, rooting around until he finds one with some empty space. Then he gathers up his video game consoles and all but three pairs of earphones. He places them gently in the bin, arranging them so they won’t get scratched or tangled. Then he closes the lid and shoves it under his bed.

Yuzu sits in the middle of his bedroom floor, legs sticking out in front of him. He can’t stop thinking about the conversation with Javi, the sudden clarity that came over him. It’s like he stepped outside of his own life for a minute and saw it with someone else’s eyes. It’s not enough that he buried his electronics under his bed. Yuzu has to do something worse: he has to take the other half of his own advice.

He sighs, flopping backwards dramatically until he’s lying fully on the floor, arms and legs spread out like a starfish. Say what you will about the negative effects of never letting anyone in, at least it’s easy. Yuzu hates making his problems other people’s responsibility, hates letting the mess of his heart spill over into the tidy organized compartments of his everyday life. He would rather single every one of his jumps in the next ten practice sessions than have to admit he’s not sure he can win the Olympics.

Yuzu groans out loud, imagining talking to Brian and Tracy about his doubt. But as the noise leaves his throat, he starts to feel embarrassed that he’s so frustrated. What, is he five years old again, unwilling to do something that’ll make his skating better because it’s too hard? That’s not the attitude of a champion. He _can_ do this. He’s not afraid of anything, and he’ll stop at nothing to get the gold. This is just the first step.

The floor is weirdly comfortable, so Yuzu lies there for a while longer, limbs splayed, breathing in and out. Soaking up courage. He watches himself skate Seimei clean, the bright white of the ceiling a perfect ice rink for his imagination. A little spark of determination bursts into flame.

A long grey skirt comes into view in Yuzu’s bedroom doorway. “What are you doing?” his mom asks.

“Trying to win the Olympics,” Yuzu says.

To her credit, his mom doesn’t laugh. “Well, if dinner is part of your grand Olympic plan, we’re having soup, and you should get it while it’s hot.” The skirt rustles away.

Yuzu sits up, feeling the blood rush back to his head. He’s very lucky, all things considered. He should eat some soup, and get a good rest, and then he’ll be able to do difficult things in the morning.

The next day, Yuzu gets to the club early, before his physical therapy appointment. He heads for Brian’s office. Tracy’s in there too, the two of them sipping coffee and going over the day’s schedule.

“Yuzu?” Brian looks up from his papers. “Do you need something?”

Yuzu takes a deep breath. “I’m feeling like—like last summer. After Boston.” It’s as much as he can say before his throat gets tight, and he has to stop. 

Tracy puts down her coffee. “Oh, Yuzu. It’s that bad?”

“Not yet. But, could get that bad, if I don’t do something.”

Brian’s paying attention now too, clued in that this is something serious. He doesn’t know everything Tracy knows, but he was there last summer, too. “Okay. Okay, well, thank you for coming to talk to us.”

“What do you need from us?” Tracy asks. “I know you’ll be getting back on the ice soon—we can set up some time just to skate, if that will help.”

Yuzu nods. “Yeah.”

“We can make some plans,” Brian says. “When you’ll train, what you’ll do. So you can see it all laid out. Right up until the Olympics.”

There’s still one fundamental problem with this, in Yuzu’s mind, so he just blurts it out. “Why you think I can win Olympics?”

Brian and Tracy stare at him, wide-eyed.

“What?” Yuzu prods. “I’m serious question.”

“I’ve never heard you wonder about that before,” Brian says. “Usually you’re very sure about being able to win.”

“Usually I’m not injured,” Yuzu says.

“That’s not really true,” Tracy points out.

Yuzu scowls at her.

“No, I’m not trying to call you out,” Tracy says. “I’m just saying—you’ve done this before. You know what it’s like to skate when you’re not at your peak, and you know what it’s like to come back from injury. You did it just a year and a half ago. And I know, I know that sucks, and believe me, I wish it wasn’t the case. But the bright side is, you already know how to do this. So you can do it again.”

“Tracy’s right,” Brian says. “You’ve recovered before. You know the drill.”

“I don’t know,” Yuzu says. He’s thinking about the quad lutz, a jump he hasn’t ever done in this consciousness. Does he trust his other self to have left behind good muscle memory? It makes him a little nauseous to imagine it.

“Look, under ordinary circumstances I wouldn’t be saying what I’m about to say,” Brian says. “But this is the Olympics, and I know how much that second gold means to you. So this is a one-time statement: you don’t have to be a hundred percent recovered. You don’t even have to have all of your jumps back. As long as you have the quad toe and the quad sal, and enough stamina to get through both programs, that’s all you need. You can win the Olympics with quality. You can even win decisively, the way you like to.”

Yuzu swallows hard. The faith that Brian and Tracy have in him is so solid and tangible, an unquestioned reality. It gives him a little more strength than he had before. How can he fall, with people like this holding him up?

“Okay,” Yuzu says slowly. “Okay, I think we do this plan.”

Brian smiles. “All right. I know you like to aim for the very hardest stuff, for breaking records, but I think maybe that’s not where your focus should be now—“

“This is hardest right now,” Yuzu interrupts. “This is breaking records, to me.”

“Good,” Brian says. “That means you’ll do it.”

Yuzu puffs out his chest, just a little. _I’ll do it._ “I will.”

Tracy slings an arm around his shoulder and ruffles his hair. “That’s my Yuzu.”

Yuzu walks out of the office feeling just a little lighter.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter how much you think you're ready, the Olympics will still take you by surprise. (Or: "I'm home.")

Yuzu’s arm hits the wall of the airplane bathroom and he curses softly. He’s changed in these tiny spaces before, but that doesn’t prevent him from wishing they were just a little larger. But it’s either this or making his first public appearance in three months in a wrinkled tracksuit. Yuzu sighs, buttoning up the blue Team Japan suit jacket. 

He fiddles with his hair, fluffing it up in the back. It’s a little greasy, but not too bad. He let it grow during his recovery time, and he likes the way it looks hanging over his forehead. A little more mature, a little less babyish. 

The hair length is about the only part of his life that hasn’t been planned these past two months. After Yuzu got back on the ice at the end of December, every moment followed a strict schedule, filled with strategies designed to help him peak in February. Physical therapy, light practice, stamina training, recovery, rinse and repeat. Evenings spent on homework or texting Javi as they both attempted to avoid video games. Early bedtimes. Gradually increasing the intensity of his skating. Putting the jumps back in, one by one. No Nationals, no Four Continents, no team event. Just steady practice and smart rest.

He’s not recovered. He’s trying not to think about it too much, the way his ankle still wobbles when he lands some of his jumps, the painkillers he swallows before he takes the ice. But he finally believes what Brian and Tracy told him: he can win. He’s staked his life on that, just like he always planned to. Now it’s time to deliver.

It starts the moment he gets off the plane and faces the press again. He can’t let anyone else know that he’s still hurting, or that he’s anything less than perfect. He splashes some water on his face to wake himself up, straightens his jacket, and heads back to his seat.

Once the plane lands, Yuzu and his manager are greeted by a team of bodyguards wearing bulky black vests and sunglasses. They look more frightening than Yuzu was expecting, but he’s pleased. He’s going to make a hell of an imposing entrance.

The rest of his team has been dispatched to deal with his bags and make sure his mom gets to the hotel without anyone bothering her. He won’t have to answer questions while pushing an enormous tower of suitcases, at least. Yuzu casts a brief, jealous glance at Javi, who’s still in track pants and his soft Team Spain sweatshirt. Javi’s going to waltz out of here with Tracy in tow and minimal questions asked, and then he’ll go eat McDonald’s or nap or something. Sometimes Yuzu wishes his life could be that easy. 

This is part of Yuzu’s job, though. And it’s a job he wants to do well—projecting a strong image to the media, for his competitors and for himself. He squares his shoulders back and takes his position at the center of the bodyguards. His comeback starts now.

When they walk through the sliding doors and out into the terminal and Yuzu sees the crowds, he’s hit with a powerful rush of energy. After so much time away, being the center of attention feels good instead of draining. He smiles, raising a hand in acknowledgement, as he’s escorted to the little area they’ve set up for a press conference.

“How is your condition?” a journalist asks him.

Yuzu hesitates. He has to phrase this exactly right. Then it comes to him. “I haven’t skated yet, so I don’t know.” He smiles as he says it. This is part of the battle, too.

The next day, Yuzu approaches practice the same way—it’s all part of his master plan. He has a strategy, and he’s going to execute it to perfection. Single jumps and stroking exercises only, saving his energy for when it really matters.

There’s nothing like the feeling he has when he first steps out onto the ice. It’s like those times he spent with Tracy before he left, letting the rhythm of his blades soothe his anxious heart. Each time he goes up and down the rink, a little more of the pressure leaves him. He still has to do an incredibly difficult thing. But—it’s going to be fun.

The next practice is even better. Yuzu’s in a rhythm again, feeling more and more sure about his skating. He even does a few quads this time around, and most of them work. He can feel the eyes on him as he jumps, so he throws in some flourishes for good measure. This is a show, too.

This practice is also better because Javi’s there. Maybe it’s the painkillers, but Yuzu feels like he can be honest with himself and just admit it: it’s always better to practice with Javi. He can’t believe he ever thought that separate practice times would work. Doing warmup exercises together, the two of them circling the rink in slow, synchronized patterns, puts Yuzu at peace. When they do run-throughs and jumps, Yuzu mostly pays attention to himself. But he’ll catch a glimpse of Javi out of the corner of his eye every so often, and feel like he’s back at the club on a regular weekday.

They circle back to the boards after a while for water and tissues, where Ghislain and Tracy and Brian are grouped to watch them.

“We’re really proud of you,” Brian tells them seriously, his gaze warm and steady. “Seriously, you make us look awesome.”

Yuzu giggles, perfectly happy. He turns to high-five Javi and sees the same happiness in Javi’s eyes, the same growing confidence. They’re going to have a good week. Yuzu can feel it.

But as the day of the short program gets closer and closer, Yuzu’s nerves start to creep back in. What if he messes up one of his jumps? He doesn’t have the technical content to make up for falls or pops here. His entire strategy is based on quality, but what if he can’t deliver that quality in the performance?

During the evenings, he watches videos of his best quad sals and quad toes, until they play in his dreams. He perfects every little detail of his arm movements, testing out different hand positions in the mirror to see which one looks more elegant. He even tries out some transitions on land, before his ankle starts to complain about it and he gets back into bed.

There’s still a little kernel of fear at the center of his chest, though. The night before the short program, he picks his phone up off the nightstand and texts Javi: _are you scared?_

Javi’s reply comes quickly. _yeah. but i’m ready. and so are you_

Yuzu stares at those words for a long time. Javi’s right. They might be nervous, but they’re also prepared. They’ve done everything they can. Now it’s down to fate and strength.

While Yuzu’s watching, the little typing bubble pops up. It appears and disappears a few times, but finally a message comes through. _this is our rematch_

Yuzu grins, sending back a few smiling emojis. They’ve been through this before, but this time they’re really going to make it happen. They’re going to skate like the world champions they are, and Yuzu will win, and Javi will get a medal. Yuzu says it out loud a few times, just to make sure it will come true.

The competition is pretty early in the day, because stupid NBC wants to broadcast it in American time, but on the morning of the short program, Yuzu finds he doesn’t mind. He’s itching to get on the ice the moment he wakes up.

When he enters the arena, the rest of his team close at his heels, it’s like he’s arrived, finally, at the culmination of his life’s energy. This is what he’s been working towards for four years, and in many ways for even longer. Whatever happens in the next two days will define the rest of his career. It’s the most exhilarating thought he’s ever had.

Brian and Ghislain attend him at the boards, along with Kikuchi. Tracy is backstage with Javi, having sent Yuzu off with a warm, tight hug.

“You’re in charge,” Brian tells him. “You know what to do.”

“Yeah,” Yuzu says. He shakes Brian’s hand firmly, then Ghislain’s. Pooh-san can’t be here, but he’s watching back in the hotel. With these people on his side, he can’t possibly lose.

At center ice, he closes his eyes. The first notes of Chopin ring out, clear and delicate. He takes a deep breath, and begins.

This piece is at the center of him, now. The musical accents, the little movements of his arms and legs, the timing of the jumps. It’s as natural as walking down the street. He’s grateful, suddenly, that he brought Ballade back, something he barely has to think about.

Every movement has meaning, down to the smallest placement of his fingers. It weaves together with the piano to create a seamless whole. He stops being worried and starts to enjoy it, to focus on each detail. Swift, light jumps, their landings each little miracles. Spins where he coils and unfurls, like a blooming flower. The step sequence, a riot of movement bursting forth. Yuzu lets himself loose, until he’s fully absorbed, his mind blank. 

Abruptly, the music ends, and Yuzu is standing at the middle of the rink with Poohs falling all around him. The audience is on its feet. A wave of joy and gratitude swells in Yuzu’s heart. Despite all the struggles and setbacks, he made it here. The place where he belongs. “ _Taidama_ ,” he murmurs as he takes his bows.

Brian is waiting for him with open arms and an enormous grin. “That was so good,” Brian gushes.

Yuzu takes a deep breath, lingering in the hug. Then he pulls away and grins too. “I’m back.”

The bench in the kiss and cry is only just big enough for Brian, Ghislain and Yuzu. They sit squished together, Yuzu breathing heavily as he wipes his face with his towel. The scores flash onto the screen. 111.68. First place, and so close to his personal best that he’s virtually guaranteed to stay in first, even though there are five skaters left.

“So close!” Ghislain exclaims, echoing Yuzu’s thoughts.

“Not bad,” Brian says. “Good start.”

Yuzu’s so happy he can hardly stand it. He loves skating, and he loves being in first place, and he loves being the kind of skater for whom 111 points is just okay, and he loves Brian, and he loves Ghislain. He even loves the rink volunteer who’s trying to shoo them out of the kiss and cry. She’s doing her job so efficiently! He hugs Brian and Ghislain tightly before he and Kikuchi gather up his stuff and retreat to the green room.

No one will ask about it, and he’d never tell them if they did, but Yuzu has opinions about this Olympics. Specifically, about Olympic placements. He needs to win, obviously, and Javi needs a medal (preferably silver), and the third person sharing their podium with them needs to be someone who fights to be on their level. It could be any one of these next five men. So Yuzu sits down to watch eagerly.

By the time he gets backstage, Nathan’s short program is crumbling. It hurts to see him struggle so fruitlessly, the sheer disappointment on his face. Kolyada is shaky too, opting not to go for the quad lutz that’s been plaguing him all season. Yuzu sips his sports drink and sighs. This is hard to watch.

Shoma turns things around, though, attacking his program with a fierce intensity. Yuzu feels proud, watching Shoma land his jumps even when they’re a little iffy in the air. _That’s my kohei._ When the scores come up and Shoma breaks 100, Yuzu cheers.

But then Brian and Tracy appear on the screen, looking stern, and Yuzu sits up straight, clutching his tissue box in his lap. It’s Javi’s turn. He says a quick congratulations to Shoma when he enters the green room, but then he turns back to the screen. He can’t miss this.

From the moment his old-timey music crackles to life, Javi’s at the top of his game. Yuzu applauds as he lands his quad toe-triple toe at the beginning, sharp and smooth. Yuzu can always tell how Javi is doing from the very first jump, and this is the best possible sign.

As the program goes on, Yuzu gets caught up in it, cheering and clapping like he’s part of the audience. It’s pure Javi: goofy and charming, fun and elegant, with jumps that you’d cross an ocean to learn the secrets of. Yuzu could never interpret this music, would look silly balancing on one skate and pretending to wobble, but it suits Javi to a T.

When the music stops, a look of sheer relief crosses Javi’s face. Yuzu’s relieved, too. Javi’s score is pretty big, but not bigger than Yuzu’s, and they’ve both skated at the top of their game today. This is the way it should be. 

Javi shuffles backstage with his jacket half off and plops himself in the armchair next to Yuzu. Yuzu leans over and hugs him. “Congratulations.”

“You too,” Javi says. He’s still catching his breath. “Good start, eh?”

“Congratulations,” Shoma says in English, and then turns to Yuzu. “Did I do well? You didn’t say anything.”

Yuzu turns to face him, feeling a little guilty that he ignored Shoma to watch Javi’s program. “You did very well too, Shoma, don’t worry.” He leans in to hug Shoma quickly for good measure. When Yuzu pulls away, Shoma’s face is twisted slightly in displeasure. “You can’t be mad about a hug! You’re in third place after the short at your first Olympics!”

Shoma rolls his eyes.

Javi leans over into their space and shakes Shoma’s hand, something which Shoma accepts with more grace. “Nice work, Shoma-kun.”

Shoma smiles. “Thank you.”

The three of them settle in to watch the rest of Boyang’s program. Boyang’s music is dramatic and sweeping, speeding up as the program goes on. Yuzu waves a hand in time, like he’s conducting Boyang’s jumps.

Javi sees him doing it and chuckles. “Someone’s in a good mood.”

“Of course I have good mood!” Yuzu says. “We’re at Olympics. Don’t you have good mood for Olympics?”

“Maybe I’d be in a better mood if I scored 111 points,” Javi says. His voice is teasing, but his eyes look serious.

Yuzu sobers up. He doesn’t want Javi to worry about his medal chances. “You will do really good tomorrow. You’ll see.” He pats Javi’s knee.

A warm smile lights up Javi’s face. “Thanks, Yuzu. I appreciate it.”

Boyang goes into fourth place, just a tiny bit behind Shoma. Like magic, a group of volunteers appear in the green room, herding the three of them down the hallway, past a huge throng of journalists, and into the room where the press conference is being held.

It’s the same room Yuzu was in earlier this week, when he gave a press conference of his own to all the journalists who couldn’t ask him questions at the airport. He’d sat in the center of the table then, where the first-place finisher sits, and he’d made a little wish: _please let me be here again after the short program._ And now here he is.

Sitting in between Javi and Shoma, answering endless questions, Yuzu’s heart is suffused with a sudden peace. The first hurdle is over, and he cleared it. _They_ cleared it. He doesn’t want to repeat the mistakes of the last Olympics, where he got too confident and was sloppy as a result. But he lets himself imagine something, just for a second: the same press conference tomorrow, with the three of them in the same order.

It’s still not very late, even after all this is over; the programs were so early that Yuzu could still do something else if he wanted. More training, or dinner with his team. Instead, he goes back to his room and flops on his bed. He still doesn’t have the stamina he’s used to having at this point in the season, and he needs all the rest he can get for tomorrow.

The day of the free skate dawns much the same as the short program. Yuzu’s not nervous—or maybe he’s so nervous that his body has given up on making him feel it. Either way, he’s possessed by an eerie stillness, like he’s walking through fog. He can’t think beyond the next moment.

It’s an eternity until he has to skate. This is the one problem with being good—they always make you go at the end. He’s ready to go, and now he has to stay ready for the next two hours.

Luckily, he and Kikuchi have worked out some techniques to help him stay sharp as he waits. Balancing exercises, playing catch, stretching, even rolling around on a little wheeled stool that they designed together. He spots Javi out of the corner of his eye from time to time, doing his own warmup exercises. Yuzu always turns his head deliberately, staying focused on himself. 

By the time Yuzu takes the ice, he feels like he could swallow the arena whole. There’s something simmering just below the surface, a fierce determination that’s ready to explode at any moment. He shakes Brian and Ghislain’s hands with the grim strength of a man leaving for battle.

At the center of the rink, he prepares. Two fingers in front of his face, to cast the spell. A breath, in and out. Then the same breath a hundred times louder, echoing throughout the arena. He begins.

When Yuzu broke the record with Seimei for the first time, it felt like Abe no Seimei himself was fighting for him. At Worlds, when he crashed and burned, he felt utterly alone, like nothing and no one could help him. This feels somewhere between the two.

Yuzu’s aware of some important realities. He’s got no technical content to fall back on this time around—his technique has to carry the day. His ankle felt like hell when he woke up, a reminder that he can only push himself so far before it falls apart. But ultimately, none of that matters. He has to fight.

He does fight. With the power of the story he’s telling, with the strength he’s gained after years of crumbling and being rebuilt. With the energy of the crowd all around him, roaring their approval when he lands a jump, breathing together as one. He rounds one side of the rink and sees the people who are fighting along with him: Ghislain, Brian, Kikuchi, Ms. Kobayashi. The little flower sweepers are sitting with rapt attention, their eyes glued to him.

Each jump is a battle. He feels the weakness of his body acutely, the sharp twinge of pain not even the painkillers can erase. But deeper and more truly, he feels the strength of his heart. His ultimate weapon, when all is said and done.

He’s been wrong so many times, he realizes as the music gets softer, the gentle flute melody rising to the surface. If he’d kept to himself, if he’d failed to let anyone in to his struggles, he might have trained faster, or more efficiently. But his spirit would be weaker. His strength doesn’t just come from himself, alone and at the center of his own universe. It’s a tight-knit web of everyone who’s ever helped him, everyone who’s wished him well or cheered on his performances or given him a hug after a bad day. They fight for him, and he fights for them.

The program passes by quickly, despite everything, until he has just one jump left. He speeds to the other end of the rink and does his triple lutz. His ankle wobbles dangerously on the landing, and he has to wave his arms frantically, but by some magic he stays upright. 

He comes out of a spin and spreads his arms out on the drumbeats, _dun dun_. He can see Brian doing the same gesture out of the corner of his eye, and he can’t help but grin. The choreo sequence is a whirl of joy. As he enters his final spin, a wave of relief hits him. He brings his foot down in a firm stomp and immediately raises his hand in the air. He did it.

He can’t believe it. Everything was against him, and he almost didn’t make it here, and he went out and skated a program clean enough to put him into first. He fought, and he won. “I won!” he yells, to the ice, the crowd, himself. “I won!” It might seem premature, but Yuzu knows. He did enough.

He bends down for a moment, to thank his ankle for holding him up until the bitter end, to thank the ice for letting him skate like this. He thinks about the ending pose of Romeo and Juliet, how he curled his fingers into the ice and feared the worst had happened. This feeling is a million times better.

He skates off the ice and into the waiting arms of his coaches. “That was so hard,” he can’t help but whine to Brian.

“I know,” Brian says. “But you did it.”

Yuzu feels his face splitting into a huge grin. “I did.”

Brian goes off to get Javi ready and Ghislain escorts Yuzu to the kiss and cry. The two of them sit there, waiting for what Yuzu knows is coming.

It’s still an amazing feeling when it comes. “Two hundred and six point one seven,” the announcer calls. It pushes him over 300 and into—“First place!” The arena erupts. Yuzu pumps both fists. Next to him, Ghislain cheers, applauding heartily.

“I think you won it,” Ghislain says. His face is bright pink with joy.

“I know I did,” Yuzu says. Ghislain laughs, but Yuzu’s serious. Shoma might surpass him in technical content, but his components are lower, and he was seven points behind Yuzu in the short. Javi was closer, but his technical content is also lower. You never know until it’s over, but Yuzu’s pretty confident.

A white blur floats past him on the ice. It’s Javi’s turn. Yuzu stands up in the kiss and cry, cups his hands to his mouth and yells “Vamos Javi!” with all his might. Then he hurries backstage to watch.

Yuzu encouraged Javi earlier with confident words, but truthfully, he’s as nervous for Javi as he was for himself. Even at the competitions he’s won, Javi’s free has been shaky all season, sometimes downright sloppy. He doesn’t need to be perfect to get a medal, but there’s only so much he can falter.

Yuzu clasps his hands together tightly as the music blares, imperious horns and drums. Javi moves his arms sharply, like he’s swordfighting. His jumps aren’t perfect, but he makes them work. Javi’s like a cat sometimes, how he always lands on his feet no matter what. Yuzu’s heart swells along with the music.

Javi told him what this program was about, one day while Yuzu was rehabbing. A man with a dream that seems ridiculous to others, who’s mocked and scorned but who gives it his all anyway. An unlikely hero with a big heart and no self-preservation instinct. A little like a man who spent his youth indoors on ice in a country full of sun and grass, a man who roots for his biggest rival like there’s no reason for them to be enemies.

And it’s powerful to watch, Javi’s heart and soul seeping into every movement. Yuzu’s caught up completely in Javi’s spell. He wishes it could have always been like this, that he could always watch Javi with his own win secure and no regrets in his heart. Javi is so good, he deserves to be appreciated this way.

When Javi pops his third quad, turning it into a double, Yuzu’s heart leaps into his throat. Javi can’t fall apart now, not when he’s so close. He’s not like Yuzu, who can change the elements on the fly to make up points. Javi has to follow his pattern, or he gets even more messed up.

But Javi pulls it together, landing the rest of his jumps well enough. No more pops, and no falls. The music changes to romantic violins, and Yuzu breathes a sigh of relief. All that’s left now are spins and the step sequence. He can’t help but move his fingers in time. After a season of watching Javi, he knows this program like the back of his hand.

The singer comes in, and Yuzu mouths the words he knows. _Courage, reach, stars._ Javi does one last spin while the singer hits the high note. When it’s done, he slumps forward. Yuzu can tell he’s worrying about that popped sal, whether it’ll cost him the podium.

Brian and Tracy have their arms around Javi in the kiss and cry. Yuzu feels a pang of longing to be there with them, all four of them together in this moment. The scores flash on the screen, and for a moment everything holds still. No one is reacting. Then Yuzu sees it, the little “2” next to Javi’s name. Only Shoma is left. No matter what happens, Javi will get a medal. A thousand pounds lift off Yuzu’s heart, and he bursts into tears.

None of the three people in the kiss and cry seem to have realized it yet. Then Tracy must spot it, because she squeals, hugging Javi and Brian. The three of them collapse together in a pile of blue jackets and joyous smiles.

Yuzu wipes at his face and sniffles. They finally did it. They had their rematch, and they each skated to the best of their current abilities. And now Yuzu’s one skater away from having his second win confirmed, and Javi’s guaranteed a medal. It’s too much for Yuzu to take in at once. 

Javi shuffles into the green room with an armful of flowers. He looks tired but radiant, like it’s finally sinking in.

“Javi!” Yuzu squeals instinctively, standing up to greet him. He flings his arms around Javi’s neck, and Javi draws him closer, squeezing him tight. Yuzu’s skates are off, so he ends up tucked into the crook of Javi’s neck. Javi smells like pine needles and sweat, and his shoulder is warm, and Yuzu starts crying again almost immediately.

“Hey, what’s this?” Javi says, pulling back to pat Yuzu’s shoulder.

Yuzu wipes at his face with both hands. “I’m so happy for you. I—I’m so happy.”

Javi’s smile is dazzling. “I’m happy for you too. We did it.”

“Yeah!” Yuzu’s brim-full of emotions, all bursting out of him at once. He strokes Javi’s arms, gripping a little too hard. Javi pulls him back in for another hug.

“I wish—“ Yuzu stutters when they break apart again. “I wish we both win gold.” It doesn’t seem fair, that Javi’s great effort and historic achievement will only be rewarded with silver or bronze. He deserves to be on the top step with Yuzu, the two of them sharing an equal triumph.

Javi laughs. “You are very nice, Yuzu. But there is only one champion, hmm? And it’s you. So wear that gold medal with pride. You deserve it.”

Yuzu tries to say something, but the sound he ends up making is more like a watery groan. Javi pulls him in yet again, and Yuzu sobs some more on his shoulder, solid and secure. If someone asked him right now why he was crying so much, he’s not sure he’d be able to say. Except—this is what he’s wanted, every time he’s competed with Javi since they started training together. A victory for both of them. It so rarely happens that he was preparing for the worst, here. But instead he gets to celebrate. He won without Javi losing.

“Let’s sit down a little, okay?” Javi peers concernedly into Yuzu’s face. “Maybe you want to drink a little water before your eyes run out.”

Yuzu huffs out a laugh. He sips water, and takes deep breaths, and watches Shoma finish a strong free skate. So it will be Shoma up there with them, like last night—his kohai, his fellow countryman, the other hope of Japan. It almost sets Yuzu off again. He presses at his cheeks, trying to contain himself.

The scores are announced, and Shoma goes into second place. He blinks dazedly in the kiss and cry, like he can’t believe this is real life, until Coach Mihoko hugs him and he finally cracks a small smile. Yuzu pumps his fist in triumph, feeling the tears starting again. It’s really real, now. He’s two-time Olympic champion. He pictures his younger self, the one who wanted gold medals and a sensitive heart. Those things are more of a burden than he knew then, but even still, he hopes that little boy would be proud of him.

The green room is flooded with well-wishers: Brian, Tracy, Ghislain, federation members, all hugging and exclaiming and asking for photos. It’s happy chaos, and Yuzu forgets his tears in the joy of it all.

Somehow, they leave the green room and head back to the side of the rink, to await the flower ceremony.

“We’re just getting flowers?” Shoma asks Yuzu as they walk. He still looks a little dazed. 

“No, we’re getting stuffed animals too,” Yuzu says. He takes pity on Shoma when Shoma scrunches up his eyebrows in confusion. “We get our medals later, don’t worry. They do it somewhere else so more people can see us.”

“Okay.” Shoma nods, satisfied.

The three of them stand to the side as camera operators and volunteers hustle past them. Yuzu swings his arms back and forth, trying to stay warm.

“You look like you did landing that lutz,” Shoma says. He flails his arms wildly in a poor imitation of Yuzu saving his landing.

“You’re one to talk,” Yuzu says. “You always wave your arms around.” He waves his arms in a crescent moon shape, the way Shoma always does when he lands his jumps, making it big and exaggerated. Shoma cracks up, slapping his knee.

Javi walks over, making a circle out of the three of them. “Come here, you guys.” He opens his arms, and Yuzu steps forward instinctively, throwing one arm around Javi and the other around Shoma. They hold tight to each other, heads pressed together. “We did it.”

Yuzu thinks that’s going to be it, a congratulatory hug. But Javi keeps talking, holding onto them both as he does.

“I’m really proud of you guys, and it’s such an honor to be on this podium with you,” Javi says. “You are so good. You are going to be so good from now on.” He pats Yuzu’s back. “I’m always gonna root for you two.”

Dimly, through the haze of other emotions, Yuzu registers a sense of dread. Why does Javi’s little speech sound so final?

“You know, this is my last Olympics,” Javi says, and it gets just a little colder in the arena, suddenly. “Maybe even my last competition, I don’t know. But I’m glad I got to do it with you two.”

Yuzu’s heart lurches. Intellectually, he knew that Javi’s time was running out, that he might be done with skating once he got his medal. But Javi skated so well this season that Yuzu felt safe assuming he had at least another year. And now he’s learning that he’s wrong, that Javi’s leaving without Yuzu ever preparing for it. Whatever Yuzu does from here on out, he’ll have to do without Javi. No training encouragement, no stroking exercises together, no more rematches to see who’s really the best. Yuzu can’t bear it.

“No,” he pleads, words tumbling out of his mouth. “No, I can’t—I can’t do it without you.” The tears come rushing back like a flood, and he buries his face in Javi’s shoulder, chest heaving. Javi cups his neck with one hand, pulling him close. It’s safe like this, and Yuzu forgets the cameras and crowds for a minute and lets go.

They have to pull away, eventually, and Yuzu presses at the bottom of his eyes, trying to dry his tears. He’s going to look like such a mess in all these pictures. What kind of jerk announces their retirement in the middle of a happy celebration?

“You are so bad,” Yuzu reprimands Javi. Javi doesn’t laugh or tease in response, like Yuzu thought he might. Instead, he smiles a little and looks down at the floor. One of his hands comes up to wipe at his eyes—he was crying too, Yuzu realizes. It makes Yuzu’s heart ache all over again. He has to stop this or he’ll be immortalized in history with a puffy red face.

He manages to get himself mostly under control, taking deep breaths and wiping his nose on his sleeve. But as soon as they call Javi’s name, it sets him off again. _Bronze medalist Javier Fernandez_ has such a beautiful, satisfying sound. Almost as satisfying as _two-time Olympic gold medalist._ When they call Yuzu’s name, he feels like he’s flying across the ice. He leaps onto the podium, injured ankle be damned. 

The technical specialist hands Yuzu the little stuffed tiger and he cradles it to his chest. “Hello,” he whispers, so Shoma won’t hear him. The three of them skate around the rink endlessly, waving and yelling. The audience is far away, but they cheer so loudly it feels like he can see each face individually. They pose for more pictures, hug and high-five again. Yuzu ruffles Shoma’s hair vigorously and Javi laughs at them. 

Just before they leave the ice, Yuzu turns to Javi for one more hug. He grips Javi tight, scrunching his fingers into Javi’s shirt. It feels like this all becomes more manageable, less overwhelming, when he’s in Javi’s arms. It’s a strange thought, hitting Yuzu out of nowhere, but it’s true nonetheless.

Yuzu doesn’t have time to think about it more, or process any of his feelings, in between the competition and the medal ceremony. Everywhere he looks are people who want to congratulate them. Shuzo and Nobu are teary-eyed and babbling. Madame Tarasova envelops him in one of her bone-crushing hugs. Johnny squeals when he catches sight of Yuzu, throwing his hands up dramatically. At the end of this long receiving line is his mom, patiently waiting. When he finally reaches her, she gives him an endless tight hug. The two of them breathe together for a while, letting themselves settle into the moment.

“My little champion,” his mom murmurs. “I’m so proud of you for making this happen.” She grips his shoulders firmly. “Go and get your medal with happiness, okay?”

Yuzu nods. “Thank you.”

“And no hiding this time around either,” his mom says, in her non-negotiable voice. “We’re going out to dinner. Your grandparents fly out tomorrow and they want to congratulate you.”

“Okay.”

Yuzu must look as tired as he felt at the thought of more things happening, because his mom immediately pats his arm. “Don’t worry, it won’t be very long. You can rest.”

It’s not really rest Yuzu’s worried about, he realizes as he walks towards the van that will take him to the medal ceremony pavilion. It’s all these feelings swirling inside him. They seem important, like they’re trying to tell him something, and he’s afraid if he doesn’t pin them down, they’ll disappear for good. What’s in his heart, this sweet triumphant ache? What does this gold medal really mean? He leans his head against the window of the van and sighs.

Javi and Shoma are already in the pavilion when he gets there, preparing to go out on the stage. Yuzu’s heart does something strange and wild when he sees Javi helping Shoma zip his vest, and he has to swallow hard.

When they put the gold medal around Yuzu’s neck, it feels like he’s caught a piece of the sun, warm and glowing. He holds it reverently in his hands. This is his. Maybe more so than the other one, which fell to him almost randomly. This one he fought and struggled for, gave up so much for, earned with his sweat and blood and love. On top of the podium, with his bright celestial reward resting on his chest, Yuzu feels purely, honestly happy.

Javi catches Yuzu as they’re about to leave, threading an arm around his waist.

“So, you know what it means now that we’ve won our medals,” Javi says.

“What?”

Javi’s grin is huge and mischievous. “We can play video games again.”

“Oh my god, Javi. You think about that right now?”

“Actually, I was thinking—your family is probably taking you out to dinner tonight, yes?”

Yuzu nods.

“Mine too,” Javi says. “So after we are done with dinner, you come to my room and we can play some video games?”

It sounds perfect to Yuzu. “Okay, yes.”

Finally, after hours of frenzy, Yuzu is back in his room. He’s supposed to be getting ready for dinner with his family in an hour. But the first thing he does is flop down on the bed next to Pooh-san and turn off the TV, which is showing snowboarding now. He hugs Pooh-san tightly, burying his face in the familiar yellow fabric. Then he pulls the little stuffed tiger out of his bag and sets him next to Pooh-san. Their cheerful plush faces stare back at him, as if they’re asking him a question. _How do you feel now, Yuzu?_

Yuzu props his head in his hands. “Fine,” he says out loud. It’s hard to know where to start. It’s like he’s lived years in a single day, full of more feelings than he knew was possible to feel. Some of that is the painkillers, he knows, the way they blur and heighten everything just a little. But they’re not bringing forward anything that wasn’t already in his heart.

What _is_ in his heart, anyway? Triumph and pride. The satisfaction of knowing he did everything he could, skated to the best of his ability at the moment. Gratitude to everyone who supported him—his coaches, his family, even his ankle. A joy with no regrets.

Except that’s not quite true, he realizes. He has no regrets for his own performance, or anything he did today, which is rare. But he regrets that he never got this happy for Javi when he won his two Worlds, that he spent so much time worrying and pushing Javi away. This is so much better, entering into someone’s happiness wholeheartedly. And Javi works so hard, he deserves everything he’s gotten. It would have been easier for both of them if Yuzu had been able to put himself aside a little bit more.

Yuzu’s phone buzzes insistently, a reminder that he has to meet his family for dinner. He takes a shower, puts on a fresh shirt, and heads to the lobby. The rest of these thoughts will have to wait. 

Dinner is a cozy, gleeful affair. His parents, sister and grandparents cram into one small booth, talking over each other and laughing. His win brightened them, too, the way his victories always do. Yuzu feels warm and happy, tucked in between his sister and his grandmother, stuffing himself with rice and meat.

His dad is describing how stressful the free skate was. “We were all holding hands,” he says.

“Saya almost broke my fingers,” his grandmother interjects, and Saya rolls her eyes.

“It was really that stressful for you?” Yuzu feels a little bad.

“We knew you could do it,” his dad reassures him. “But we were still nervous anyway.”

“You were so good, though,” Saya says. “I think that was as good as when you broke the record. Or maybe it’s just because I got to see this one live.”

Yuzu blushes a little.

“No, it was that good,” his mom says.

“Oh, thanks for rubbing it in,” Saya teases. “You see him all the time, blah blah blah.”

His mom laughs, reaching across the table to flick Saya on the nose. Saya sticks out her tongue.

“It’s like this all the time, seriously,” his mom says. “No matter how many medals you win, Yuzu. It’s like I win a medal too, with you.”

The rest of his family nods, and Saya puts an arm around him, squeezing his shoulder.

“It really feels like that to you?” Yuzu asks, thinking about what it was like to watch Javi skate today. What it’s always like watching Javi. “You feel like my medals are your medals?”

“Only because we love you so much,” his mom says. 

“Love you too,” Yuzu says absently. His mom’s words slide neatly into place among his earlier thoughts, making a sudden sense of them. It’s like Brian always says: they’re a family at the club. He loves Javi the way his family loves him, and that’s why Javi’s successes are his successes. Sharing happiness and triumph, everyone’s victories as one—this is just what families do. Yuzu smiles fondly, looking at everyone gathered around the table. How lucky he is, to have this family and a skating family, too.

His dad and grandfather are starting to get a little tipsy, as is typical for family celebrations. 

“We should toast!” his dad exclaims. “To Yuzuru!”

The family raises their glasses—some full of beer, others of water. “To Yuzuru! Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” Yuzu says. “I'm glad you could all come.”

“What are you going to do tonight?” his mom asks. “Review film, or just go right to sleep?”

“Actually, Javi and I are going to hang out,” Yuzu says.

“Oooohh,” Saya teases. Yuzu rolls his eyes. Just because Saya thinks he’s silly for always staying in doesn’t mean she needs to make fun of him breaking his solitary routine for once. He hears a few scattered snickers from the rest of his family, but he just ignores them. 

Yuzu’s grandfather stands up with a groan. “I suppose we ought to get going, we have an early flight tomorrow.” They all stand up with him, coming around to hug him and Yuzu’s grandmother.

“Congratulations, once again,” his grandfather says, clapping him on the back.

“Yes, congratulations. We’re very proud of you.” His grandmother kisses Yuzu’s cheek. “We’ll see you this summer, yes?” 

Yuzu’s heart brims, thinking about finally being back in Sendai after this terrible whirlwind year. Celebrating his gold medal, giving back to those who supported him, taking a rest in the place that’s always his home no matter how long he stays away. “Of course.”

The walk back to the village is cold, but Yuzu doesn’t really notice. He feels like he’s floating on a cloud. His mom’s words at dinner are still echoing in his thoughts: _because we love you so much._ Yuzu’s always been grateful to the people who help and support him, who make it possible for him to skate the way he does. But he’s so rarely thought about how much he loves these people, too. 

In the warm, hazy afterglow of his Olympic victory, everyone in his life is bathed in soft light. Not just his parents and grandparents and Saya, the people he skates for, always at the center of his heart. Brian, too, gentle-hearted and honest, watching over Yuzu’s growth like a gardener looking after a wayward plant. Tracy, who gave him the gift of accepting his limitations, who turns the rink into a home. Kikuchi, whose tender concern helps Yuzu heal as much as his skilled hands do. Ghislain, whose arms are always open for a hug. Shae-Lynn and Jeff, who somehow understand what he’s trying to say on the ice. Javi, who treats Yuzu like a friend and not a rival, who’s never stopped encouraging Yuzu…

A stray tear makes its way down Yuzu’s cheek. What has he ever done to deserve this immense good fortune? He’s taken these people for granted time and time again, as if this kind of love is guaranteed. He’s taken Javi for granted, assuming Javi would always been there, the way his real family is always there. And now Javi’s leaving.

Yuzu feels like he’s been running for a long, long time, and he’s only now stopped to catch his breath. Things are becoming clear to him, in the space he has now. He still loves skating with all his heart, and now he finally feels proud of how far he’s come, instead of just regretful about what he hasn’t done. But he meant what he said to Javi—he couldn’t have done it without him. Whatever they did, they did together, as teammates, supporting and cheering each other. It was only hindered by Yuzu’s stupid feeling that if he let anyone in, it would bring his skating down. He knows he was wrong about that, now. And he won’t even have a chance to rectify it now, train the way he should have trained. 

At least they have the rest of the Olympics, and maybe the summer shows too, if Yuzu’s ankle heals well. They have tonight, when they can finally have the fun they’ve been denying themselves all season. Yuzu digs out his phone to ask Javi if he’s ready.

Predictably, Javi’s family dinner is running long, so Yuzu goes back to his room to wait. He spreads his arms out and flops backwards onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling dreamily. Yuzu made fun of Javi when he suggested it, but truthfully, a night of video games feels like something they deserve as much as their medals. He pictures the two of them sitting side by side, Javi’s warm grin as he pulls some sneaky attack. How they’ll elbow each other to try and mess the other one up, how they’ll laugh until their sides hurt. 

They’ll probably hug some more, too. Yuzu can’t believe he ever thought Javi’s hugs were too much, back when they first started training together. They’re just right, firm and fond and _safe_. Yuzu hugs a lot of people, has always loved hugs, but a hug from Javi is like nothing else. No matter how many people are around them, when Javi hugs Yuzu, it’s like they’re back in Cricket, just the two of them. Javi always smells really good, even when he’s just gotten off the ice, and he radiates warmth, like a glowing fire. His arms are so solid and muscular, encircling Yuzu with tender care, like Yuzu is something fragile and precious. Sometimes Javi holds Yuzu’s waist with his big hands, thumbs stroking gently, and it feels like it could go on forever—

Yuzu sits up, heart pounding. The daydream snaps, leaving a tingling sensation all throughout his body. His cheeks are flushed hot, and he’s breathing hard, like he’s been running. These aren't the kind of thoughts you have about a friend. 

For almost as long as he’s known Javi, Javi’s been special to him in a way Yuzu never examined too closely. _It’s just Javi,_ he told himself, just the Cricket family, just the bond of two people united by the same goal. Something complicated but important that could never be defined—and anyway, Yuzu had more important things to do than think about this stuff. 

But this whole time, it’s been very simple. This is something else, something different than he feels for anyone else. His mom’s words ring in his ears again, but this time he hears them differently. He doesn’t just love Javi—he’s _in love_ with him.

It’s like a thunderbolt, striking him in the heart. A lot of things become obvious to him all at once. Why he’s never been able to push Javi all the way away, even when he believed he needed to. Why it feels so safe to be in his arms. Why it’s always been important to him that Javi does well. This is love. And while Yuzu’s been pursuing his ideal skate, and trying desperately to stop the timeskipping, he never noticed what his heart was doing. 

He takes deep breaths, letting the truth of it seep into his bones. He’s head over heels for Javi, and probably has been for a while. It’s surprising, and yet somehow not at all.

Yuzu’s phone buzzes and he startles violently, knocking Pooh-san off the bed. It’s a text from Javi.

_Ready now! Come 2 my room whenever :)_

Yuzu swallows hard, staring down at his phone. Somehow he’d forgotten, in the midst of his newfound realization, that he was actually going to see Javi tonight. The—the man he loves, apparently. Yuzu sits on his bed for a few more minutes, trying to collect himself. Then he stands up, puts his coat on, and sends a text in response: _on my way_.

All the way to Javi’s building, Yuzu is preparing himself, rehearsing English words in his head. He’s tempted to forget about his revelation for now and let this be the fun, casual evening it was intended to be. But he can’t escape an uncomfortable fact: the last time he won the Olympics, he went to sleep and woke up in the future. He has to speak now, in case he’s somewhere else tomorrow. He needs to admit to Javi why he’s blown so hot and cold—needs to admit all of it, including the timeskipping. Javi deserves an explanation for why his friendly gestures were so often brushed aside. And then, if Javi doesn’t think he’s crazy, he needs to tell Javi how he feels. This is his last chance.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation long overdue, a puzzle solved, and a flight of hope.

Yuzu’s heart speeds up as he gets closer to Javi’s room, like he’s about to skate the free all over again. He takes a deep breath, then knocks on Javi’s door.

Javi opens it with a big smile. He’s in sweatpants and a soft grey t-shirt, hair rumpled up in the back like he’s been lying in bed.

“You ready to play?” Javi says as Yuzu steps into the room. “I want to kick the Olympic champion’s ass at video games.”

“Actually—“ Yuzu hesitates. It would be so easy to get out of this. “I need to talk to you about something. Two thing.”

Javi frowns. “Of course. What’s going on?” He comes over to stand nearer to Yuzu so they’re face to face, only an arms’-length of distance between them.

Yuzu swallows. “Okay. First thing, you think I am go crazy maybe.”

“You don’t look like someone who’s crazy,” Javi says. “You look so serious.”

“Um. Is kind of hard to explain in English, but—I am going forward? Traveling? In time. Traveling in time.”

Javi’s mouth opens, just a little. “Like, with a time machine?”

Yuzu shakes his head. “Sometimes I’m going to sleep and then—I’m waking up in the future. It happening…” he counts in his head. “Four time so far.”

“Oh my god, I have so many questions,” Javi says.

Yuzu laughs. “I’m just glad you don’t think I’m liar.”

“You wouldn’t lie about stuff like this,” Javi says, as if that’s all there is to it. “When was the last time it happened?”

“After Worlds last season,” Yuzu says. “I go to sleep after medal ceremony, I wake up on the ice at NHK with injury.”

“That sounds so scary,” Javi says. “Is it always like that?”

“I never expecting,” Yuzu says. “Worst time I go to sleep after Sochi, I’m waking up in hospital after surgery.”

Javi shudders. “Wait, but you’ve been here the whole time. Or—“

“Yeah, I guess that is…another me? Different self. This self is travel through time. And Kikuchi-san, he say I’m traveling because my future self start it. Too many me. Is confusing, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, silly,” Javi says. “So is it just going to keep happening to you, or is there a way to fix it? Or do you like it?”

“It’s bad,” Yuzu says. “Kikuchi-san tell me, the way you stop is to figure something out. Like, future Yuzu, he think something really bad in his life, so he wants me to fix. And once I fix, I stop. And he disappear.”

“Wow. So it must be really important, then.”

“Yeah. But I can’t figure out.” Yuzu can’t keep the slight note of worry out of his voice.

“Do you need me to help?” Javi says. One of his hands comes up to rest on Yuzu’s arm. “Is that why you’re telling me?”

The question catches Yuzu off guard. “Maybe. Really, I telling you because—“ Yuzu takes a deep breath. “I have been so bad to you all the time, Javi. I ignoring you, not speaking, just think about myself. I’m not good friend. Because I’m just thinking about this, and about skating. And now you are leaving, it make me really sorry. So I want to explain, little bit.”

Javi moves his hand back down to take Yuzu’s hand, lightly. “Look, I’m not going to lie and say it was always fun to have you shut me out. But it sounds like you’ve been dealing with so much. And I understand that, and I forgive you.” He squeezes Yuzu’s hand. “And honestly, I could have respected you a little more. I know you aren’t someone who hangs out with people the way I do, and I didn’t always have to get frustrated when you didn’t want to spend all this time with me. You don’t have to be close to me if you don’t want to.”

Yuzu’s heart sinks a little. It feels like Javi’s trying to push him away. Yuzu’s not a coward, though. He won’t back down from owning up to his feelings. “I have other thing to tell you still.”

“Oh, yeah. What is it?”

Yuzu looks at Javi’s face, his earnest, listening expression, and it’s too much. He looks down at his own feet instead. “I—I think I am maybe in love with you. No, not maybe, I shouldn’t say. I do love you.”

“What?” Javi sounds almost alarmed.

Yuzu presses onward. “I always have lot of feelings about you, and I don’t know what they are, but I realize today, what all this is. I don’t know when it start, but. Is definitely love, so. Sorry.”

Yuzu feels a strong, warm hand cup his face, drawing it gently upward until he’s looking into Javi’s eyes. Javi looks stunned and hopeful, and something else he can’t quite pinpoint, because their faces get closer and closer together, until all of a sudden Javi is kissing Yuzu. It’s soft and hesitant at first, and then Yuzu opens his mouth for Javi, inviting him in. He feels the gentle pressure of Javi’s tongue, the flutter of his lips. It doesn’t take long until they’re both breathing hard.

When they pull apart and Yuzu opens his eyes, he feels like he’s woken up somewhere new. He reaches for Javi’s hands insistently, gripping them tight.

“So.” Yuzu feels stupid for asking, but he has to know for sure. “You love me too?”

Javi laughs. “For so long, oh my god. I can’t believe you didn’t notice.”

“And you don’t say anything?”

“It took me a long time to realize. And—I didn’t think you even liked me as a friend, sometimes.”

“Sorry,” Yuzu says automatically, stroking Javi’s hands with his thumbs. “Really sorry, Javi.”

“It’s okay, I already forgave you,” Javi says. “And that was only sometimes. You’ve been really good to me too, Yuzu.”

“How long you have this feeling?” Yuzu asks.

“It’s kind of embarrassing.” Javi lets go of one of Yuzu’s hands to scratch the back of his neck. “Rostelecom.”

“October is not so long.”

“No, the first Rostelecom. When we were both on the podium together.”

Yuzu’s mouth drops open. “You love me all the way back then? I was just kid.”

“I didn’t know what I was feeling then. I only realized it later. But—when I was on the podium with you, at the press conference with you, I was so happy. I’d never been that happy about a competition before. You were so good at skating, it made me want to be so good at skating too. I remember how tired you were at the press conference, how you kept coughing, and I wanted everyone to stop asking you questions so you could rest. And when you laughed, it was like—like a little sunrise. I tried to make you laugh some more just to see it.”

Yuzu thinks about that day, sitting across a table from a young man who acted like he had won the gold just because Yuzu had. The firm grip of Javi’s handshake and the bright warmth of his smile. How Javi sought him out during the gala and tried to talk to him even though neither of them really grasped the English language. It was that meeting he’d thought about when he’d been asked about new coaches, as much as Javi’s jumps. “Maybe—I’m thinking maybe it start for me then too.”

“I didn’t know how I really felt until you had your surgery,” Javi says. “I missed you so much. I think Brian wanted to kill me, I was always asking him ‘How’s Yuzu, how’s Yuzu?’ And when you got better and we got to do the ice shows together, that was the best time.”

Something comes back to Yuzu in startling, vivid clarity. “You don’t ask Miki out first time because you like me.”

“I was going to ask you out,” Javi says. “But I was too scared, so I kept not doing it. And then you disappeared.”

Yuzu frowns. “Do you just use Miki to get back at me, later?”

“No, it wasn’t really like that,” Javi says quickly. “I realized you were never going to feel about me the way I felt about you. So I thought it was time to put it all behind me and find someone else. But—“ Javi looks at his feet. “I could never really do it. I liked Miki a lot, she was a great girlfriend, but how I feel for you is just—always there. Always strong. I couldn’t get rid of it because it was too big. So I just decided—even if he only wants me as a friend, I’ll love him however he’ll take it. And try to make that enough.”

Yuzu’s heart aches. He throws his arms around Javi’s neck, pulling himself closer so they’re chest to chest. Javi’s arms settle around his waist.

Yuzu holds Javi’s gaze, bringing out the words he wants to say carefully. “I feel so big for you too. And that’s why I don’t notice. I don’t think about love, I just think is Javi. But—I know now. So now I say, I love Javi with all my heart, and I’m Javi’s now.”

Javi’s eyes brim. “Oh, Yuzu. I never thought—“ Yuzu feels the gentle touch of Javi’s lips in his hair. “Cariño. Love of my life. I’m yours, too.”

Yuzu sinks into Javi’s shoulder. The two of them cling to each other, the way they did beside the rink. Tears leak from Yuzu’s eyes, and he can feel Javi shuddering too. This is another victory, almost a better one.

“Javi—“ Yuzu pulls himself up eventually, sniffling. “Last time I win Olympics I wake up in future right after. Maybe—maybe it happen again.”

“Are you scared?” Javi strokes Yuzu’s waist.

Yuzu lets out the thought that’s been in the back of his mind, growing stronger and more frightening as he and Javi get closer. “What if I wake up in future without you?”

“Don’t worry,” Javi says. “I promise, I’ll do everything I can to keep that from happening. When you wake up in the future, is it a long time forward?”

“Longest was a year,” Yuzu says. “Sometimes just few months.”

“Oh, that’s easy then,” Javi says. “Even if I’m not right there when you wake up in the future, I’ll still be in your life, no matter what. I promise.”

“Okay,” Yuzu says.

“You don’t have to think about it right now,” Javi says. “Let’s just enjoy tonight, hmm?” His face turns mischievous. “I still want to kick your ass at video games, if you’re up for it.”

Yuzu is. He perches in Javi’s lap as both of them take turns with the handheld console, Javi kissing his neck to try and distract him.

“Not fair,” Yuzu pouts.

Javi just laughs. “You already won today, let me win at something.”

“No,” Yuzu says, tilting the console away as Javi makes a grab for it. “You want to win, you have to earn it.”

“You’re so mean to me,” Javi purrs, kissing behind Yuzu’s ear. “You can’t even take pity on a tired old man?”

Yuzu pauses the game and turns around to look at Javi. “Maybe I let you win at other thing.”

The console is thrown to the side, forgotten. They make out for what feels like hours, time stretching out as they kiss and touch. Yuzu forgets about everything else—the time travel, the Olympics, even the gold medal. His world narrows down to the softness of Javi’s bed, the warm circle of his arms.

They only stop when Yuzu starts yawning, big and noisy. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. We had a really long day.” Javi stretches his arms above his head. “Do you want to stay here tonight?”

Yuzu considers. He’s nervous about what might happen if he goes to sleep and wakes up in the future—will his other self, the one that stays in this timeline, know why he woke up next to Javi? But he’s so sleepy, and he doesn’t want to leave. “Yeah, I stay.”

Yuzu texts his mom to let her know. She responds more quickly than she usually does.

_all right. don’t stay up too late, for video games or other things ;-)_

Yuzu blushes, turning his phone off before she can say anything else embarrassing. He wriggles out of his track pants and Team Japan shirt, accepting the worn red t-shirt Javi offers him. It’s soft and smells like him.

The two of them get into bed, fluffing pillows and arranging comforters until they’re both comfortable. Javi leans over to kiss Yuzu before turning off the light. “See you in the morning.”

“Good night,” Yuzu whispers back. He sinks his head into the pillow. Javi’s out immediately, snoring softly. As exhaustion overcomes Yuzu, he musters every last ounce of energy to make a wish. _Please let me have all the time I want with Javi._ His eyes close, and he plunges deep into sleep.

****  
Yuzu wakes up feeling peaceful and refreshed, like he’s slept for years. Light is coming in through the curtains of the hotel room. He looks to his right and sees Javi sleeping beside him, face smashed into the pillow. Javi’s bronze medal glitters on the bedside table. Yuzu’s still right here. It’s just tomorrow.

Yuzu breathes a sigh of relief. Maybe it’ll be like last Olympics, and he’ll go to sleep after the gala and wake up somewhere else, but at least he has another day. Even with Javi’s reassurances, he doesn’t want to wake up three or six or ten months in the future. He wants to live his time with Javi day by day, the way it’s supposed to be lived.

It feels like they’ve lost so much time already. They spent six years training together, seeing each other almost every day, and Yuzu spent so much of that time just thinking about himself. And now, on the last day of what could have been Javi’s last competition, Yuzu finally realized. It’s better late than never, Yuzu supposes. He could have kept on being oblivious, and who knows what would have happened then. Still, it feels like something he should have figured out a lot sooner. It’s not like this was the first time Yuzu ever cried in Javi’s arms at a competition, or felt his support and tried to return it, or got invited to hang out after all was said and done—

Yuzu sits bolt upright in bed, adrenaline rushing through him. What if this was what the lesson he was supposed to learn? That he loved Javi, that he couldn’t have done anything without him. That it’s better to let someone in than to wall up your heart. Kikuchi’s words come back to him: what was he choosing before he skipped? The very first skip happened the day he decided to join the Cricket Club—the day he also decided that he wasn’t going to be friends with his rival, no matter what.

Yuzu runs through all the skips in his head, becoming more and more convinced. He’s been learning a lot of important things this whole time, but dancing around the one thing that was obvious to everyone else. His future self must have missed his chance and realized his love too late. It makes sense, finally, why he wasn’t skipped past some of his greatest difficulties. Those were the times Javi reached out, made his feelings more obvious. The Yuzu of the future sent himself forward to the moments when Javi’s love was most apparent. And Yuzu did his level best to fuck it up, but—he didn’t. He didn’t. He figured it out.

Yuzu is wide awake now, his heart bursting with joy. His dreams came true. He won Olympic gold, and he stopped the timeskipping. So many things stood in his way, walls to climb over, but he vaulted them all. Now he’s in an endless clearing, free to run after new dreams. The quad axel, new kinds of music, different forms of expression, conquering whatever new system the ISU puts in place. And other, more intimate dreams, tender little seedlings sprouting in his heart from the moment Javi kissed him last night. He can’t wait.

Javi is still dead to the world, but Yuzu can’t take it anymore. He needs to share this feeling before he explodes. He shoves at Javi’s shoulder.

“No,” Javi mumbles, before burying his face in the pillow.

“Javiiiiii,” Yuzu whines. “Wake up, I have to tell you something.”

Javi rolls onto his back and groans, throwing one arm over his eyes. “You’re killing me, baby.”

Yuzu goes warm all over, hearing that _baby_. “Javi, it’s tomorrow.”

“Of course it’s tomorrow,” Javi says. “That’s how time works.”

“Not for me!” Yuzu says, shoving Javi again. “Oh my god, wake _up._ I’m still here in same timeline.”

Javi does wake up at that, hauling himself up to a sitting position and turning to look at Yuzu. “Really? And here I was all ready to convince you not to run from the room screaming when the other you found himself in my bed.”

“Lying,” Yuzu says. “You not ready for anything, you would just sleep for nine hundred years.”

“Is there a way I can send you to the future after all?” Javi says. “I bet your other self wouldn’t be so ruthless this early in the morning.”

Yuzu giggles. He climbs into Javi’s lap, bringing his knees up to cradle Javi’s waist. Javi’s hands automatically come up to cup his face. “You love me.”

Javi leans in for a kiss, long and lingering. “I really do.” He runs a hand through Yuzu’s hair, which must be sticking up in all directions. “So, you’re still here, huh.”

Yuzu nods. “I think—for good.”

“Oh yeah?” Javi’s petting him like a cat now, almost scratching his head. Yuzu wants to purr. “Did you figure out what it is you needed to learn to stay?”

“Mhm.” Yuzu whispers the next part, like it’s a secret. “That I love you.”

Now it’s Yuzu who leans in to kiss Javi, putting his whole heart into it. Javi makes a soft, high sound, almost a whimper. Yuzu almost can’t bear it, knowing how strongly Javi feels about him. An overpowering sweetness fills the little hotel room.

“I have to go back to Spain for a couple days,” Javi says forlornly, when they break apart. “To do media stuff. Make them care about my bronze medal.”

“They have to care,” Yuzu says. “How they don’t appreciating Javi? You are only reason people talk about Spain in Winter Olympics.”

Javi chuckles. “You’re going to sneak onto the plane and fight the press, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“I think they will be happy,” Javi says. “I wish I didn’t have to leave you right now, though. I’ll be back for the gala, but—“

“It’s okay,” Yuzu says. “I understand.” He kisses Javi again, a quick peck. “Don’t go too long, but go make them appreciate.”

“I promise,” Javi says. He turns to look at the clock on the bedside table. “I guess we better get ready soon.”

They shower and dress and Javi packs. Before they leave the room, they spend a last long moment in each other’s arms, kissing deeply.

Javi’s the first to pull away, pressing kisses to Yuzu’s cheek, his forehead, his hair. “I’ll see you soon, cariño.”

“See you,” Yuzu murmurs. “Love you.”

Javi’s smile is like the sun coming through the curtains. “Love you too.” When they part in the lobby, Yuzu carries that smile with him, like another gold.

He makes it all the way back to his room without running into anyone he knows. When he unlocks the door, he finds his mom sitting crosslegged on the floor, sorting through a bag of gifts.

“Hi,” Yuzu says sheepishly.

His mom glances up. “Hello there. I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“Javi has to go to Spain for a couple days,” Yuzu says. “Media stuff.” He sits down next to his mom on the floor, staring at the pile of Poohs and cards and flowers in boxes.

His mom looks over at him. “So I take it more than video games happened last night.”

Yuzu wrinkles his nose. “It wasn’t just like that. I—I realized yesterday, that I was in love with Javi. And that I had to tell him.”

“Wait, you just realized yesterday?” his mom says. “I thought you knew for a while, and you were just afraid to tell him.”

“No, I didn’t—” Yuzu stops. “Wait, how did you know I was in love with him?”

Yuzu’s mom smiles at him, gentle disbelief in her eyes. “Oh, sweetheart. It’s very obvious. The way you look at him, the way you act around him, it’s different than anyone else. You’ve been in love with that boy for years and years.”

Yuzu feels abashed and fond and supported, all at once. “You could have told me,” he mumbles grumpily.

“You’d never have believed it,” his mom says, which is infuriatingly true. “Besides, it’s not like we never brought it up. Why did you think Saya was teasing you last night at dinner?”

“I thought she was just making fun of me for how I never do anything but skate,” Yuzu says. “But I guess that makes more sense.” He puts his head in his hands. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” his mom says. “These things take time. You figured it out, and that’s what’s important. And I take it Javi feels the same way?”

“He said he’s loved me for almost as long as he’s known me,” Yuzu tells her. He still can’t quite believe it, that underneath the surface all these feelings lay in Javi’s heart.

His mom reaches over to pat his shoulder. “That doesn’t surprise me. You’re very easy to love.”

“Mama,” Yuzu groans. He can feel his face get hot. 

“I’m glad you two worked something out,” his mom says. “You’ve had a big couple days, huh? Gold medal and a new boyfriend.”

“Yeah,” Yuzu says. _And the end of the timeskipping,_ he thinks. He has to tell his mom, he realizes. Now that it’s over, she can’t worry about him, and he’ll feel like a liar if he never says anything about it. “Something else happened too. Well, it was happening, and then it stopped.”

His mom sets down a pile of cards. “What are you talking about?”

“Um. I didn’t want to tell you while it was happening because I didn’t want you to freak out—“

“That’s a very bad way to start a sentence, Yuzuru.”

“It wasn’t bad! At least—well. What it was, was I kept going to sleep and then waking up in the future.”

“Oh?” his mom says. “Like time travel?”

“Yeah. And I asked Kikuchi about it, and he said it wasn’t that unusual, and that it happens when your future self wants you to do something differently with your life, or change something. And I’ve been trying to figure it out for a long time. But this morning, I realized—my future self wanted me to realize my feelings for Javi, and not push him away all the time. So I don’t think it’s going to happen anymore.”

His mom is quiet for a long time, long enough that Yuzu gets a little worried. He looks over at her, but she doesn’t look upset, just thoughtful.

“You know, you can tell me anything,” she says. “Even if you think I’m going to get worried. I promise I’ll always listen to you.”

“I know, I just—it started when I was still new to seniors. And the more it happened, it just got harder and harder to tell you. You deal with enough stuff I do as it is, I didn’t want to make it worse.”

“Look at me, Yuzu.” His mom’s face is serious, her eyes soft. “I’m your mother. You couldn’t stop me caring about you even if you wanted to. And you’re old enough to realize now that being with you is a choice I made. I’m not sitting on this floor with you because I hate looking after you. So maybe you can stop being so concerned that you’re a burden on me, all right?”

“Okay,” Yuzu says sheepishly. He inches closer to his mom, dropping his head on her shoulder.

“Besides, your old mother knows a thing or two that can help you out now and then,” she says. “For instance, did you know that your uncle Makoto skipped forward in time when he was younger?”

“Wait, really?” Yuzu sits up.

“Grandma didn’t want me to marry your dad because of it,” his mom continues. “She asked me if I would want something like that to happen to my child one day. It’s genetic, I guess.”

“What did you say to her?”

“I told her that if it meant my child had more than one chance to live a good life, then of course I would want that.” She brushes her lips against Yuzu’s temple. “And I wasn’t wrong.”

“Oh, good,” Yuzu says. He feels a smile spreading over his face, even as he blinks back a stray tear, like the sun coming out while it’s still raining.

“When you smile today, it’s like you’re glowing,” his mom says. “I would have known something happened even without you telling me. You just look happy all over.”

“I am happy,” Yuzu says to a Pooh plush he plucks from the pile. “I’m just—really, really happy. About everything.”

“Good,” his mom says. “You deserve it.”

****

Javi gets back to Pyeongchang the day before the gala, just in time for practice. Yuzu’s about to step into the rink when he sees Javi walk in, looking rumpled and a little sleepy, and his heart starts racing.

Javi spots Yuzu and walks faster, a gleeful smile on his face. The second he gets close Yuzu reaches for Javi. He’s a little taller than Javi in his skates, and he enjoys the feeling of Javi’s forehead against his neck.

“Hey you,” Javi says, muffled. He drops a gentle, hidden kiss at the join between Yuzu’s neck and shoulder. “I missed you.”

“Me too,” Yuzu whispers back. They’d texted more than Yuzu had ever texted another person, and they even managed to get in a quick video call, but it wasn’t the same as having Javi in his arms.

“I guess I better get my skates on,” Javi says after a while. He squeezes Yuzu’s waist. “Did I miss a lot?”

“You miss—playing curling with water bottles. Pretend to speed skate. Also Ondrej lift me.”

“Oh, so I’m hopelessly behind. I see how it is.” Javi nuzzles Yuzu’s neck one last time. “I’ll get ready and see if I can catch up.”

When they break apart, Yuzu hears a cough from behind him. He whirls around and sees Kikuchi, holding his tissue box and suitcase with an expression of barely controlled neutrality. His mouth is twitching up a little at the ends, which is what happens when he’s amused by something but doesn’t want to give Yuzu’s game away.

Yuzu sighs. “Yes?”

“That was a very long hug,” Kikuchi says. “Long even for you and Javi.”

“We’re, um.” Somehow it’s more embarrassing to say it to Kikuchi, a man who will have to deal with any effects this relationship has on Yuzu’s body. “We’re together, now.”

“That’s good,” Kikuchi says. “I wondered about that, sometimes. There’s always so much emotion between you.”

“Seems like I was the last to know,” Yuzu mutters.

“It takes a while to realize, when someone is so close to you like that,” Kikuchi says soothingly. “You don’t notice if your feelings change. But I’m glad you and Javi are together.”

“It’s better than that,” Yuzu says. He’s been so preoccupied that he’s somehow forgotten to share the most important news of all. “I stopped skipping.”

Kikuchi’s poker face cracks at that, bursting into a full-on grin. “Because of Javi?”

“Yeah. Remember how you told me it was because of a choice I made?” Kikuchi nods. “Well, I was thinking about it and I realized—every time I skipped, it was just after I’d decided to do something to distance myself from Javi. So I could skate better, or because I was frustrated, or whatever. But this time—I chose the opposite. So I think I’m staying in the present from now on.”

Kikuchi envelops him in a hug, patting his back with firm hands. “I’m so, so glad.”

“You helped so much,” Yuzu says into Kikuchi’s shoulder. “Sorry I was kind of a jerk about it sometimes. Thanks for always looking after me.”

“It’s no trouble,” Kikuchi says. When they pull apart, his eyes look suspiciously damp. Yuzu hands Kikuchi his skate guards with a grin and races out onto the ice to join the others.

Javi and Yuzu can’t keep away from each other during gala practice, messing around and smiling at each other, but no one else seems to notice anything out of the ordinary. It’s as if their friendship, the one that got them so many questions and so much attention, has just been heightened, or intensified. If Javi’s hands linger a little too long on Yuzu’s waist, or Yuzu spends a little more time talking to Javi, it’s not unusual to anyone else.

They hurry back to Javi’s room after practice, breathless and panting, barely able to make it in the door before they’re tearing each other’s clothes off. It’s new, and a little clumsy, but the bright, sweet joy that’s zinging in their blood carries them through. Yuzu tucks away memories like treasures for the next time they’re apart: the beauty of Javi’s muscled body, entirely naked; the feel of the coarse hair on his chest against Yuzu’s cheek; his enraptured face, eyes closed and lips apart. When it’s over they curl in Javi’s bed for a long time, not saying anything. Breathing each other in. Yuzu drifts in and out of sleep, completely relaxed. For one rare, fleeting afternoon, he doesn’t think about tomorrow.

The gala is as early as the rest of the performances have been, but Yuzu’s getting used to it by now. He’ll have to rest for a long time after this, to let his ankle heal, and he’s determined to enjoy this to the fullest. Waiting in the dark by the rink, listening to the audience cheer, he soaks it all in. Making a memory of his greatest triumph.

He skates the swan, of course. But not the swan of White Legend, the bird struggling upwards through darkness and difficulty, beating back the great weight that holds it down. This is Notte Stellata, the starriest night, and the swan he skates to this song is the bird of his reborn hope. The first step on the ice after injury, the moment you know you’ve won, waking up in tomorrow next to someone you love. Every beautiful thing that’s ever sprouted up in the midst of something awful. It doesn’t change how hard it is to be alive, but when Yuzu skates this swan, he remembers that’s not all it is.

As the music gently comes to a close, Yuzu unfurls his wings, extending his arms behind him. He feels lighter than air, like he could really fly away. He’s fought his way through the darkness time after time, but this is where he always ends up. Even if there’s more ahead, he’ll soar past it in the end. The light isn’t distant, after all. It’s right here, within his grasp. _Thank you,_ he whispers.

Yuzu ends up near Javi as they wait for the grand finale. Javi puts a gentle hand on Yuzu’s back, caressing just for a moment.

“You look so beautiful,” Javi whispers. Yuzu’s glad the dark hides his blush. 

They stride out onto the ice, and Yuzu reaches his hands back, looking for Javi. Javi takes them, squeezing gently, and Yuzu breathes a sigh of contentment. It’s a gesture that feels new and familiar at the same time, a reminder of where they’ve been and where they’re going, together. So much is still unknown, so much dependent on things yet to be determined, but Yuzu’s not worried. They’ve got all the time in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue coming tomorrow!


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two epilogues, from two timelines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone for the wonderful response to this fic! It's been a joy to share it with you all.

**July 2018**

“More chicken?” Yuzu’s mom hovers near Javi, holding a dish aloft.

“No, I’m stuffed.” Javi pretends to rub his stomach. “Thank you. Arigato.”

Yuzu smiles a little at Javi’s clumsy but earnest pronunciation. Javi’s been trying so hard. Ever since Fantasy on Ice ended two days ago, they’ve been in Sendai together, and Javi has been subjected to a wide variety of Hanyu nonsense. It’d be a lot to take for anyone, uncles and aunts and grandparents coming in and out of the little apartment in a steady stream, but the language barrier makes it especially difficult. Javi’s smiled and nodded and done his best to keep up. Yuzu’s relatives all seem charmed with this goofy Spaniard eating their food and listening intently to their conversation, luckily.

“I like your family,” Javi whispers to him the first night. They’re squished into Yuzu’s old bed, pressed close together to fit. Yuzu’s head is resting on Javi’s chest, the sound of his heartbeat a soothing rhythm in his ear.

“Good,” Yuzu whispers back. “I think they liking you too.”

After two days, most of the extended family have paid their visits, and things have calmed down somewhat—although Yuzu’s mom still felt obligated to cook a large dinner, filling Javi’s plate with things he might like. She whisks away the chicken.

Yuzu helps wash the dishes like always, Javi pitching in despite protests that as a guest, he should just relax. They watch baseball with his dad for a little while, until his dad starts yawning and turns off the TV to head to bed. An idea comes to Yuzu suddenly, the perfect way to show Javi an important part of Sendai.

“We do something big at midnight,” Yuzu tells Javi, keeping his voice low and mysterious.

“Ooh, something big, hmm?” Javi teases. “And it has to be at midnight?”

“Yes, that is best time for this,” Yuzu says. “You see. You like, I promise.”

And so at midnight, Yuzu and Javi tiptoe out of the apartment carrying their workout bags. Yuzu texts his mom so she won’t worry (“You would have been the worst at sneaking out in high school,” Javi says) and closes the door gently behind them, taking care not to disturb the sleeping family.

A lone cab is driving slowly up the street, two steady headlights cutting through the dark. Yuzu hails it and shows the driver the address on his phone. They set off through the sleeping streets of Sendai. If the cab driver knows he’s carrying two-thirds of the Olympic podium in his backseat, he doesn’t let on.

They come to a stop in front of the Ice Rink Sendai building. Yuzu tips the driver generously and heads for the entrance.

“It looks closed,” Javi says skeptically from behind him.

Yuzu fumbles in his pocket. “I have key.” He unlocks the sliding door and turns to Javi, who’s shaking his head.

“You’re unbelievable,” Javi says. “They let you do this?”

“Is only time I can practice at home,” Yuzu says. “When no one is here. So they give me key, I can come whenever I want.” He leads Javi down the hallway and unlocks the second set of doors. They hurry past the embarrassingly large cardboard cutout of himself and the bookshelves lined with his magazines and head into the rink itself.

Yuzu knows this place by heart, can navigate even in the dimness of the empty rink. “Stay there,” he tells Javi. He heads to the little glassed-in cubical where they keep the sound and light equipment and flips a switch. Light floods the rink, revealing the sights Yuzu sees in his mind’s eye: the battered white and yellow boards, the crisp ice, the benches for tying your skates.

“Wow,” Javi says. “So this is where you started.”

“Yeah,” Yuzu says. “Is better now that it was. They make lot of improvements.”

“Hmm, and I wonder where they got the money to do that,” Javi says, poking Yuzu in the ribs.

Yuzu ducks his head. “I don't bring you to talk about that. I bring you to skate.”

Javi grins. “So let’s skate, then.”

They lace up, side by side on the bench Yuzu always sits on. Yuzu plugs his iPod into the sound system, turned low, and the air fills with the peppy guitars of One Ok Rock.

Yuzu bends down as he enters the rink, saying hello to the ice. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Javi bend down too, and it puts a lump in his throat. 

Once they’re on the ice, they settle into a familiar rhythm. They don’t need to call out stroking exercises or ask for directions. They simply match each other’s movements, back and forth, side by side. After six years of skating together, they’re in perfect tune.

“I’m going to miss this,” Javi says. “Skating like this with you every day.”

“Me too.” It takes Yuzu another lap, up and back, to work up the courage for what he wants to say next. “Javi, what we do now? I know you are leaving Cricket soon, and we are spending lot of time apart. Lot of time busy with different stuff that isn’t us. Are you sure you want?”

Javi skids to a stop, almost flinging himself into the boards. He holds out his hands to Yuzu, and Yuzu glides slowly towards him, until he can grab on.

“I’m sure,” Javi says, eyes intent on Yuzu’s face. “God, I’ve never been more sure about anything, Yuzu. I love you, I’m not just going to let you go.”

Warmth spreads all throughout Yuzu. “Is going to be really hard, though.”

“Yeah, I know.” Javi’s face falls a little. “But we’ve done hard things before. I have faith in us.”

Those simple words buoy Yuzu up. Javi’s right. Compared to some of what they’ve done, this will be easy.

“C’mon, let’s skate some more,” Javi says. He glides over to the left of Yuzu and takes his hand, intertwining their fingers. They skate holding onto each other.

“You are so confidence about—us,” Yuzu says, wonderingly.

“Well, I think maybe I need to send a fruit basket to the ISU for helping me out,” Javi says. “They gave you both Grand Prix events in Europe this year. It’s like they knew I want to come watch you skate. Cheer you on, let you put your golds around my neck, celebrate in your hotel room…”

Yuzu’s face feels hot. Somehow, this hadn’t occurred to him. “Maybe you having to fight old aunties for seat.”

“Or I’ll just talk to your mom and get her to help me out,” Javi says. “Besides, I’ll need her permission for my other idea.”

“What other idea?”

“You’ve only got a week in between Helsinki and Moscow,” Javi says. “It makes no sense to go back to Canada. So I think you should come to Madrid to train. Stay in my apartment. I know you don’t take breaks during the season, but we can spend as much time together as you want. And if you just need to focus, I’ll train with you. Then you’ll go off to Moscow happy and well rested and break some records or something, and I can take all the credit.” Javi’s laughing at the end of his last words, but Yuzu can tell it’s just a deflection, that he’s afraid to have put too much of himself out there. 

“You are really nice boyfriend,” Yuzu says. It’s the first time he’s said _boyfriend_ out loud, and it feels like the word is echoing all throughout the rink, loud and significant. Javi just smiles, though, like it’s ordinary. “I don’t know what to say. Just—yes. I want.”

“Good,” Javi says softly.

“I will talk every day,” Yuzu says, wanting to give something back to Javi. “I want to. I don’t want to stay hiding. I’m thinking I can focus and still talk to you.” He grips Javi’s hand tighter as English starts to fail him. How can he say that he feels like talking to Javi will be part of his focus now, that having Javi there, even just at the other end of the phone, will keep him from falling into the pitfalls lurking in every corner of his mind? He hopes Javi knows what he means.

“I can’t believe you are going to text me every day,” Javi says. “I know how big that is, for you.”

“Is easy to do, when it’s you,” Yuzu says. “I’ll be too sad without.”

They do another lap, getting closer and closer, until eventually Javi is holding Yuzu’s arms at the waist, the way ice dancers do. “Also—“

“You have more idea?” Yuzu says. “You thinking about this so much.”

“It’s not even really an idea yet,” Javi says. “But—this season is my time for expanding skating in Spain, for _Revolution,_ finding my next career—you know. So maybe next season is your season, then.”

“My season?”

“Maybe I’ll help Brian out at the Cricket Club so I’m in Toronto with you all the time. Or I’ll do lots of stuff in Japan so I’m there when you come back. We can take turns, while you’re still skating. So it’s not so hard on both of us constantly.”

Yuzu almost trips over Javi’s feet, behind him. It’s stunning, how much thought Javi’s put into their future. For so long, Yuzu’s been avoiding plans, wondering when he might wake up six months on with his ideas shattered. But now the future is open before him, like a vast sheet of ice. He can make a grand plan with Javi if he wants. He can take things one day at a time. They can work it out with each other, the way they’re maneuvering their skates to move in sync.

“I don’t know what I’m thinking,” Yuzu says. “But I’m wanting—to figure out together. Okay?”

He feels Javi’s lips on the back of his head. “Okay.”

They move in rhythm, aligned to each other. Yuzu hears Javi’s love for him in every scrape of his skates, sees it in every turn of their feet, and gives it back as best he can. From the way Javi’s grip tightens on his arm, the soft sound of his breath, he knows Javi understands.

Later it’ll be time for tea from the vending machine to warm them up, and sneaking back into the apartment with stifled giggles, and a long, lazy morning in bed resting from their exploits. They’ll revisit this conversation in the light of day, work out the hows and the whens and the wheres. But for a few moments longer, it’s just them and the ice, moving forward together. The way it’s always been. _Sometimes it takes a long time,_ Yuzu thinks, _to get right back where you started._

****

**August 2048, in another timeline**

Yuzu’s been putting this off for as long as he can. But now the summer shows have ended, and his help is no longer required. It’s finally time for him to look this in the face and do what he knows he needs to do.

It wasn’t that long ago that he thought he’d be making a different choice. After he retired, he skated in shows for a while, and then switched to choreography. It felt like the start of a booming second career, at first. Like he’d found the other thing he was meant to do.

But just a few years in, he started to feel burnt out already. The passion and emotion he always tapped into as a skater was running dry, and he couldn’t put it into choreography the way he always assumed he could. He’s been living inside his own head for fifty-three years, and he’s lost the ability to see things from someone else’s perspective, can’t translate thoughts and feelings into movements they can communicate. Or maybe he never had that ability in the first place.

People keep asking him back—to choreograph, to be a special guest in talk shows, to ceremonies commemorating milestones. But only because of his achievements, his history. Not because he’s truly contributing something valuable. And no one asks Yuzu to the things he really wants to attend—a lunch with an old friend, a phone call about what to do if he’s exhausted the possibilities of a career around skating. They assume he wants to be left alone, the way he always wanted to be left alone when he was competing. It turns out you can get out of the habit of having friends, if you try hard enough.

No one can take Yuzu’s medals away from him, or his records. But there are other things to regret in life. A first love that never had the chance to grow, because the revelation came too late. Friendships never built out of a fear they would become all-consuming. A habit of openness stifled, until one day there was no way to say how you really felt to anyone. Looking back on it now, he could have had the gold medals and those things, too. He just hadn’t thought it mattered then.

There’s nothing Yuzu can do about it, anyway. Plenty of people have regrets in middle age, things they would change if they have the chance. But everyone muddles through, taking their joy wherever they can get it, trying not to sigh after impossible things. Or so Yuzu thought.

But the first week of April, he pays his weekly visit to his mother, and she’s full of stories from the past, especially from the days before she married his father. Many of them he’s heard before, of course, family legends and lore as familiar to him as his mother’s face. One is new, though.

“Your grandmother didn’t think we should get married,” his mother says, taking a tiny sip of her tea. “Because your uncle was a time traveler.”

Yuzu peers at his mother, alarmed. Her face seems lucid, so she’s probably not wandering.

“I’m not making this up,” his mother says. “I know no one believes an old woman, but it’s true. He skipped forward in time, and then—and then one day he stopped. Because, he said, he made a new choice, and it was a better choice. He called it his second chance at life.”

Yuzu’s heart pounds, hearing this. It’s like a door opening in the distance. “Is it common? To be able to do this?” 

“Your grandmother thought it was—what’s that word? That it ran in the family.” His mother sets her teacup down carefully, with quavering hands. “She thought you would inherit it.”

“Do you think I might have?” Yuzu tries to keep his voice calm.

“How should I know?” his mother says. “If anyone did, it would be you, though. You always did have a sensitive heart.”

Back at home, Yuzu researches extensively, trying to find out everything he can about timeskipping. It’s not to be taken lightly, he discovers—if his other self is successful, it erases his timeline from existence. Are things really that bad? He decides to shelve it until later.

But after the summer shows, Yuzu sees it differently. All the young skaters, with their future ahead of them, put a lump in his throat. They laugh and talk with each other, bright and open. They’re unafraid of life. Yuzu’s choreographing alongside a few other professionals, but he’s still eating dinner alone in his room every night. He doesn’t even have film to review anymore—he has to watch TV for company.

His life flashes before him, the little choices that carried him along this path where he no longer wants to travel. He wants to let go of these regrets, give himself a chance to be whole in a way he wasn’t before. The more he thinks about it, the less terrifying it gets. For once in his life, he’s going to open himself up. 

So now, on this hot August afternoon, Yuzu sits crosslegged in the middle of the floor, eyes closed. He fills his body with energy and fervor. Then he concentrates on sending it into the past with all his might. “Help us out,” Yuzu whispers. “Do what I know you can.”

When he opens his eyes, he feels at peace, for the first time in a while. His younger self was smart, and passionate, and full of energy. He’ll figure out what he needs to do. After all, there’s no such thing as a night that doesn’t end. It’s only a matter of time.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr at someitems.tumblr.com


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